Fallen From Grace
by AmiNoo
Summary: The worst scar of all is the loss of innocence... When Peter becomes a victim of a senseless attack, he puts his entire faith and, even his life, in the hands of his hero: Nathan Petrelli.
1. Prologue

_Hey y'all =]=]=]._

_This is my first Heroes fic (eep!), but since I've become a total fan and added the show to my list of greats -Supernatural, Torchwood, Scrubs, 24 etc-, it has granted me FanFiction muse =P._

_I know the title will probably have been done to death, but I was listening to Three Days Grace at the time, so, blame the music! hehehe._

**_Summary: "The worst scar of all is the loss of innocence." When Peter becomes a victim of a senseless attack, he puts his entire faith and, even his life, in the hands of his hero: Nathan Petrelli. _**

_Yes, summaries are not exactly my thing, but hopefully you'll still enjoy the story!_

_I love reviews (be they complimentary or critical) and I really appreciate the feedback =D._

_This story will be a little slow-going (sorry to people reading some of my SN stories - serious Writer's Block!) so please have patience while I try to juggle my workloads to get this sorted._

_Each chapter will have a playlist of what I've been listening to: just in case you wanna listen to the same stuff or if you're curious or whatever ;)._

_I don't own Heroes (damn it!), but I will be pinching a few of the characters; primarily those incredible Petrelli boys =]._

_Anyways, enjoy!!! _

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Playlist:-

Three Days Grace - Get Out Alive.

Rise Against - Savior.

Green Day - Boulevard Of Broken Dreams.

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**Prologue****.**

He watched the man's limbs as they thrashed about uselessly, his already airborne body smacking hard against the opposite wall before falling still. The other hooded one followed suit, landing in an unceremonious heap next to his companion, either unconscious or dead.

_I don't really care which._

A cry of rage, although it sounded rather pitiful to his ears, made his head snap up and his dark eyes narrowed. He would have made the attempt to raise an eyebrow had he managed to see the comical side of this entire situation. The attacker's broken nose was still rather amusing in itself, but the knife he brandished wildly took away any outright amusement.

Saying nothing, he raised a hand. The broken-nosed man stopped literally in his tracks, held back by an invisible force. The intimidating look he had previously tried to bear slid off his messed-up face, terror aptly replacing it.

The man who wore all black huffed, unsatisfied with the lack of courage he was witnessing. "Is that it?"

His voice was bitter, as if he'd seen too much that had tested his once gracious nature. The broken-nosed man's lip trembled and he became even sourer.

_Sometimes I wonder if this world is even worth saving…_

With a careless flick of his wrist, the lowlife was sent flying, already broken nose going for another round with a sturdy brick wall. He too slumped and left the waking world.

Exhaling deeply through his nose, feeling the violent raindrops carve out a course down his face, the man wearing black rounded swiftly on the only conscious man remaining. He paused for a moment, studying how the bald head bobbed up and down, trying to scramble away through the growing puddles.

_Like a sewer rat, _he reasoned, advancing with steady steps. _Except that no sewer is good enough for you._

With an eerie grace, he leant over, grasping the back of the man's jacket tightly. He straightened, dragging the now squealing creature with him and thrust him hard into the nearest wall. Pinning him there with a look, the man in black moved closer, the wide terrified eyes that gaped at him invoking rage, pity, and most of all, disgust.

"You made a grave mistake tonight."

"I'm sorry! P-Please, just d-don't…!" He was silenced, his jaw being cracked shut by yet another invisible force. His teeth were forced together, grinding and mashing and he screamed; the sound muted behind his locked mouth.

The mysterious man shook his head, dismissing any words or noises that were left to give. He didn't say anything. He simply gazed at the thin scar that the bald man had somehow acquired, snorting humourlessly.

He'd seen worse.

The clamp on the scumbag's jaw was released and he drew in a shuddering gasp, whining and sobbing. "P-Please…"

He didn't care about his pleas. He wanted him to suffer for what he had tried to do. Ever since… everything, the loss of naivety and innocence had plagued him and things like _this_… this is where it would always start.

It was senseless and it was a constant scar, marring what should be a peaceful life.

_The worst scar, _he surmised, noticing Baldy gazing at his own in wonder and fear. _It will always sting the most._

"The world is changing again_. _You have no idea what is about to happen here," he finally murmured, fixing his victim with another spine-tingling glare. "And for that…"

No smile rested across his thin lips as he took a step back, the suspended man redoubling his efforts to break free. He lifted a hand, watching it as it began to glow a deep blue, small sparks of energy flitting on his finger tips.

"… Be grateful."

He forced forth his hand, electrical energy raging out of his palm and incinerating the man in seconds. He listened to the screams, relishing that the cruel weather gave aid to his torturing methods. The flames dancing across the man's skin lit up the cold eyes and he watched, unblinking, as flesh was steadily devoured.

Watching the life fade out of the body satisfied him and he relinquished his hold, letting the hunk of charred meat splash down onto the ground. The smell of burning flesh tingled in his nostrils, but he breathed it all in.

Death was forever a constant in life: fact.

Turning, he looked to the skies, his mind reaching outwards in concern through the storm. His lips drew into an even tighter line, no comfort offered to him at what he heard. A strand of hair fell irritatingly in to his eye, but he ignored it, making brisk steps towards the street.

His justice had been served out satisfactorily for the moment.

The night swiftly enveloped him, his black attire providing him with the cover he needed. He left the three figures and a corpse behind him, vanishing into the darkness.

It was as if had never even been there at all.

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_Thank you for reading and please review!!! =]._

_The next chapter will be up asap - hopefully it shouldn't be too long! _

_Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;)._


	2. Fallen From Grace

_Hey y'all!!! :):):)._

_Thank you to everyone who read or reviewed the prologue (the reviews really made me smile so thanks! :D)._

_In the chapter, the adorably amazing Peter Petrelli will make his entrance! (woop woop!!! :P). Milo Ventimiglia deserves a huge thank you for his incredible ability to bring this character to life - without his talent, there would be no Heroes FanFiction on Peter at all *argh! =O* hehehe. So thank you Milo!_

_This chapter is pretty violent in places so I just wanted to warn you beforehand. Also, to spare confusion, this takes place maybe 10-15 minutes before the prologue (so hopefully you can see how the scenes link) ;).  
_

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Playlist: -

Aqualung - Left Behind

The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus - Your Guardian Angel

Nine Inch Nails - Hurt

Snow Patrol - Run

Creed - One Last Breath

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**Chapter 1: Fallen From Grace.**

Torrential rain coveted the city of New York, unrelenting in its attacks. The streets were practically flooded as taxis ploughed their way through relentlessly. Constant spears of raindrops hailed down to the world below: a translucent sheet to anyone who struggled their way through it.

Peter Petrelli was one of these unfortunate people.

He shuddered, tugging his now drenched coat tighter around his body. He had literally just walked a block away from his apartment before being hit by the taunting weather. He had no reason to go back – his last umbrella had been caught in an unfortunate updraft and was never seen again.

The long dark bangs flopped in front of his eyes and he flicked his head, knocking them back for the twentieth time in one minute. He felt weighed down, his soaked through jeans continuously slipping at his skinny waist and, embarrassingly, he had to keep tugging them up before he was arrested for indecent exposure.

_That's just give Nathan something else to laugh at me for, _he thought to himself, cursing his runaway umbrella for the last bout of jests his big brother had sent his way.

Glancing up from his hunched position as he tried to shield himself from the weather, Peter watched a taxi go by wistfully. His urge to hail for a cab had been easily overpowered by the need to eat, and with cash being particularly strapped at the moment, food took priority.

_But even starving seems more appealing right now._

Too engrossed in his own self-pity, he failed to notice the taxi speeding along the road towards him: well, _him_, and the monstrously huge puddle positioned directly next to him.

All he saw when he next looked up was a huge wall of water heading directly for him. He gasped, attempting to lift his arms up in an attempt at a barrier.

It was futile.

The harsh cold of the water made him screech and he stumbled back a few steps. Opening his eyes in a squint, his mouth hung open comically, he glanced down at himself. And he thought he couldn't be any more soaked…

His favourite red hoodie clung to his chest while it sagged at the bottom, now drooping down towards his knees. With the enforced weight, his jeans had made another desperate bid at falling down and Peter hastily stopped them, tugging them up and hoping nobody saw.

But then again, everybody else who had to be out in this weather had taken a cab.

Sighing, Peter shook his head from side to side, sending drops of water everywhere. "Nathan's gonna have a field day when he sees me," he murmured like a kicked puppy, before enveloping himself tightly within his saturated coat once more.

He winced as his trainers squelched as he walked and he realised that, bitterly, the only thing the rain could possibly do now was make him drier. Luck just wasn't on his side today.

Stifling a cough, he dragged himself down the street, the fading light of the day doing nothing to aid his situation. He had thought about calling ahead to let them know that there was a slight chance he might be late - if he wasn't already - as he was dragging about ten pounds more extra weight than before. But he had the small suspicion that his mobile may have drowned.

His entire frame shivered harshly and he stopped for a moment, trying to catch his breath. The cold was beginning to compress in his chest and even without a medical degree, he'd have known that hypothermia would start creeping up on him soon.

Inhaling deeply, he nodded his head as his own confirmation to go, and began brisker steps towards his destination. He was glad that he had in fact walked this route before and therefore his impaired sight held no obstacle for him.

_But if I flew… _he stopped that trail of thought abruptly. He had only flown twice, and both times had been with Nathan nearby. As far as Peter could tell, his brother was the catalyst that allowed him to take flight and without him there, he wasn't sure if he could do any more than jump up and down on the spot.

The bottom of his jeans caught on his opposite foot and he stumbled for a moment, almost going to one knee as his clothes practically willed him to fall. Catching his balance, he focussed on placing one foot in front of the other.

_Besides, even if I could fly on my own, I doubt I'd be able to push myself off of the ground with this weight._

Trembling again, Peter proceeded to wrap his arms fully around his torso, ducking his head back down for cover. As the wind blew, it knocked his hair back from his ears, allowing them to instantly freeze in the harsh weather.

Peter winced. Red ears, red nose, red hoodie, drooping clothes: sounds like a deranged Christmas story where Santa gets depressed and turns anorexic.

Trying to pick up the pace, Peter took a quick look around, trying to recognise his surroundings through the rain. He groaned aloud as he realised that he still had several tedious blocks to pass before he reached the Petrelli household.

_Mom's gonna be angry, _he realised, not exactly being a standing fan of Angela Petrelli's wrath. After all, the invitation was simple: _Dinner at our house. Nathan and his family are coming. Don't turn up late! Try to look presentable. _

The only part of the invitation that Peter could say had probably been accomplished, was that Nathan and his family would be there. At this rate, he would most definitely be late and, not only that, but clearly this evening he would be attempting to pull off the 'drowned rat' look. As for dinner, by the time he arrived, he had no doubt that Angela would have given up any hope of him actually arriving and disposed of his.

_I should've taken the cab – I knew it!_

He paused, looking to his left and seeing a dark alleyway. He remembered taking it before as a shortcut to get to the Petrelli house – he recognised the graffiti of an eclipse on the wall.

Peter took a step towards it, before he stopped, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling uncomfortably. Of course, when he had last taken this shortcut, it had been daytime. With the sun almost set, the alley had a sinister feel about it and the youngest Petrelli gulped slightly.

_If you don't take it, you'll be really late and you know how that turns out. _He inwardly recoiled at the memory of the last time he hadn't been as prompt as what had been expected. _Besides, you're an adult now – you shouldn't be so freaked out by one alleyway. _

He knew he was being childish to be so suspicious, but his caution stubbornly remained. _Nathan would do it without a second thought… _and that was the deciding factor.

Nathan had always been his hero: the one he had looked up to all through his life. No matter what it was, Nathan seemed to be able to fix it. He was the golden boy of the family and Peter knew he would always be living in the immense shadow cast by his big brother. It didn't matter though. Nathan deserved to be a hero of the world, just like how he was the constant hero of Peter's.

With only a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, he entered the alleyway. Pleasantly, he noticed that the walls of the alley protected him from the wind and even sheltered him from the worst of the rain. By this point though, it wasn't like it really mattered, but any small relief was a relief all the same.

He moved with grace between the overturned dustbins and increasing puddles that lay ahead of him. Coughing, he rubbed a hand against his chest, trying to soothe the ache that rested there. He lowered the other hand to the waistband of his jeans, tugging them up again as they slid.

He was, truly, a miserable sight to behold.

As he passed a side alley, he failed to notice a man dressed completely in black that watched him. The unnerved feeling persisted, but simply burying himself deeper into his cream-coloured coat, he picked up the pace, leaving the man behind.

Peter couldn't help but shake the feeling that someone was watching him. He knew that it was probably just his surroundings that were making him feel paranoid – after all, horror films totally drank up dark, secluded alleyways on a raining night.

It was a perfect setting for a perfect crime.

Ahead of him, two men stepped out from behind a dumpster and Peter froze immediately, eying them with distrust. He turned, beginning to make a retreat back from where he had come from when two more men appeared, blocking his way.

His heart began to race as he stood still, head twisting from side to side as he took in the two pairs of men advancing towards him. Still clutching his sodden coat close to him, he backed away towards the wall, trying to keep the men in his sights as he did so.

"Oh, look at 'im! You scared little Princess?"

Peter glared at the comment, directing it to whoever had spoken at his right. He stepped back again, flinching as his back collided with the wall. Trying to still the panic, to maintain his glare on the man who had spoken, Peter inwardly felt the despair clutch at him.

_Nowhere else to go… _

"He's a pretty one, this'un," commented a grating voice and Peter jumped at the proximity. He pulled away as one of the men on his left reached him, lifting a hand towards his face. The fingers stretched further, despite Peter's obvious attempts to move away. "So pretty…"

Peter wanted to say something. _'Leave me alone' _seemed like a good way to start, but he couldn't force out the words. Besides, he doubted that these men would actually do as he instructed. He certainly wasn't intimidating enough to scare them away.

A hand gripped his arm and he started, swinging around and aiming a strong left hook at his attacker. Pain erupted in his knuckles as they met their target and the hand was, thankfully, released with a grunt.

Before he even knew what was happening, a knee buried itself into his slim abdomen and the air was forced out of his lungs. Peter gasped, doubling over as he struggled to draw in oxygen, his arm now cradled protectively over the injury.

Again, hands grabbed at him and unable to retaliate this time, he was pushed up against the wall, his head cracking back against the bricks. He felt the sets of hands on his arms hoist him upwards off of his feet, and he struggled, legs kicking out uselessly at his restrainers. Something sharp was pushed against his neck and he held back a wince as what he knew to be a knife dug into his skin.

"Feisty little one ain't ya?!" spat out the grating-voiced man, and Peter stared down at him with blurred and pain-filled eyes. The man before him was bald, with a scar leading from where his hairline should have been to just above his right eyebrow.

A moan to his right attracted his attention and the man who he had punched stumbled into view, clutching his now bloodied face, "My nose! The little shit broke my nose!"

His hand fell away momentarily and inwardly grimacing, Peter made the assessment that he had indeed broken his nose. _Oops…_

Breathing heavily, Peter allowed his gaze to fall on the two hooded men that held him up, before it fell back upon the bald one. "W-What… do you… want?"

The question was forced as he struggled to breathe regularly. His stomach still hurt and he knew that he was badly winded. It didn't help that the cold proceeded to steal his breath away, the soaked clothes stinging his skin bitterly.

"Well, originally, we was gonna rob ya for your money." Chuckling, the bald man lifted a hand, brushing away Peter's bangs much to the younger man's revulsion. "But you don't look like ya have any on ya."

The two men that held him laughed darkly and Peter's expression hardened. He kept his head very still, feeling the knife nick at his skin and what he supposed to be blood began to trickle down his neck.

A look that Peter couldn't place, but that still managed to make him feel increasingly nervous, crossed the bald man's face. He clamped his mouth shut, breathing deeply through his nose in an attempt to control his amounting fear.

"But now…" the knife lifted from its position on his neck and now hovered before his face, tracing imaginary lines all over it. A tongue slithered out past the man's chapped lips and he edged in closer. "You really are a catch… _pretty boy._"

Peter controlled the whimper of terror in his throat as the man's eyes trailed down the length of his body. He tensed in the hold that kept him suspended and readied himself to make an escape attempt.

The knife had now been lowered as Baldy abruptly invaded _way_ too much of Peter's personal space, pressing up against him. "Maybe you can repay us in another way."

The suggestion was abundantly clear, even to a gentle, kind soul like Peter's. He met the dark eyes that stared at him lustfully and tried not to throw up. _Although, maybe vomit in the eyes might make him back off a bit, _he reasoned, before feeling the man lean closer into him.

"Go screw yourself."

As soon as he said the words, he swung out with his foot, catching Baldy neatly in between his legs. A disgruntled noise, like a pig being gutted Peter imagined, erupted from his gaping mouth and he fell backwards.

Swinging out wildly, Peter managed to catch his restrainers hard in the sides and their grip loosened. He pushed off of the wall, slipping from their clutches before he took off running. Deftly, he dodged to the side, out of the way of broken-nose guy's angered lunge.

Heart beating in his throat, all previous thoughts of exhaustion banished from his mind, Peter raced down the alleyway, determined to get away. Nathanwas his only thought: the thought of his big brother protecting him as always giving him the strength to run.

Before he could get clear of the alley, burning agony erupted in the back of his thigh and he screamed. His knees buckled and he hit the floor hard, the side of his face and hands ripping against the hard concrete. His eyes opened, wide and terrified as he felt the burning stab of pain pulsate in his leg with every racing heartbeat.

"Got him!"

The yell came from behind him and he raised his head, spying the open street only a few feet away. Stretching out a hand, fingernails digging and cracking on the hard floor, he dragged himself onwards, groaning in pain.

Rain still bore heavily down on him, hardening his struggle as he dragged his aching and bleeding body towards safety. He could hear running footsteps behind him and gasped in panic, wrenching his body harshly down across the ground.

Suddenly he was pinned down: a choked noise erupted from his lungs as his ribs were crushed under the weight. He felt a sting in his leg followed by an intense rip and he cried out, tears rolling down his already rain-drenched cheeks.

He blinked upwards, hurt etched in his pale features as broken-nosed man appeared before him. The thug lifted the knife, now bloody up to the hilt and swung it back and forth like a pendulum, grinning cruelly. "Ya don't get away that easily."

Moving out of his line of sight, Peter slumped against the floor as the heavy weight atop of him was lifted. The reprieve was brief before harsh kicks started raining down on him, catching him in the chest and side. He attempted to curl in on himself to get away from the attacks, but it was no use: the blows just kept on coming.

After one particularly hard kick to his side, he felt some ribs crack and he gasped, finding it instantly harder to breathe. He thought he heard somebody tell them to stop but as far as he was concerned, it was too late and his face fell forward against the cold floor.

Aches were now constant, spiking along his body with each miniscule movement. Peter coughed, body trembling with the cold and abuse and he felt blood begin to conjugate in the back of his throat.

_Shit._

His head was wrenched upwards and had Peter even wanted to make a sound, he couldn't. The taste of the rising blood managed to distract him from the pain as someone yanked on his hair, keeping his head raised reluctantly off of the floor.

"You shouldn't've done that."

Peter couldn't agree more, watching Baldy's angry face as it swum above him. He blinked slowly, realising that it only made his vision worse. _Fantastic… _

He coughed weakly, clamping his mouth shut as he felt blood trickle over his lips and down his chin. Baldy filled his view now, gripping his chin and studying the bright red stain intensely. Something like a snarl escaped him and he released Peter, who, caught unaware, did nothing to prevent his short descent.

His already bloody and abused face smacked hard against the concrete, white pain erupting from his nose. Instant moisture clouded his eyes and he felt a nosebleed begin promptly: blood racing over his upper lip and swiftly joining the massing rivulets that stained his chin.

Distorted voices met his ears and Peter turned his head on one side, not really trying to listen. It was his own pitiful attempt at putting himself in the recovery position as breathing was becoming steadily impossible with the blood flowing from both of his air passages.

"N-Na… th'n."

He knew Nathan wouldn't hear him: he might have been Superman in Peter's eyes, and even literally considering he had the ability to fly, but he didn't have instant victim intuition. There was no way of his family knowing he was in trouble – they'd have just chalked it up to him being unable to turn up on time as usual.

_I'm gonna die here, and they're not even going to realise._

He heard shuffling behind him and he instinctively tensed. A pair of shoes appeared before his face and he focussed on the Nike sign across them: bright, bold and prominent against the deep black surrounding it. Something brushed against his side and he winced before rough hands grabbed onto his hips.

"You're lucky you're still pretty, even when you're messed up."

Hazel eyes widened from their half-lidded state as the words filtered through his hazy mind. They were still going to… even when he was dying… _God, no!_

He attempted to struggle, each jerk causing him to almost black out for a few seconds. He was instantly held down and he whimpered loudly, powerless to do anything about it.

The hands at his hips gripped his baggy, soaked jeans, fingers looping over the waistband. The fingers were cold as they brushed against his skin and Peter shuddered, bringing on another bout of coughs. He heard the distinct splatter of his blood against the floor over the patter of rain and he gasped, back arching slightly as he inhaled.

"Hurry up… ain't got long…"

That was broken-nosed guy, or at least, that's who Peter imagined it would be. He felt sick, physically, mentally, emotionally… they knew he was in trouble here, possibly dying, but they were still going to… _How can people act this way?_

Peter had often been told he was naïve, that he put too much trust in the fairness of humanity. He had never believed it until now. It was just tragic that he had to experience the horror first hand to truly understand.

Silently, he sobbed, raging fear boiling under his skin. He knew what was about to happen and he was just terrified. His pulse had begun to spike erratically once more and he was almost hyperventilating, his body close to convulsions with the shock he was putting himself into.

The jeans began to slide…

A single tear formed and fell, hanging off of one of his eyelashes. He blinked and it fell, dribbling from the corner of his eye before travelling diagonally over the bridge of his nose. It then sank into his torn cheekbone, adding yet another sting to the countless injuries on the youngest Petrelli's frail body.

This was it…

_Help me, someone, please…_

The fingers that had been digging lustfully into his hipbones were suddenly wrenched away and Peter gasped aloud in surprise. The Nike shoes ahead of him were thrown abruptly out of his line of sight and the restraining hold over him vanished.

It was his chance.

He had to get away now.

Finding purchase beneath his shaking frame, his hands pushed upwards, forcing his body into a runner-type pose. He lifted his weary head, fading vision aimed on the street ahead.

_Nathan._

Pushing off of his unwounded leg, he shot forwards, gravity losing its grip upon him. Thoughts of his brother granted him the wings to fly and he accepted them willingly, rising into the rain-filled sky and heading for the masses of clouds.

Thunder roared. If it was furious at him or the men who had assaulted him, he didn't know, but it instantly made him move faster.

The harsh wind battered his already abused body, knocking him out of his straight-line trajectory. He grunted, the force causing his broken ribs to shift and more blood to spill from his lips. It clogged in his throat and he choked, retching.

Consciousness was fleeing him rapidly and he lost altitude, falling loosely through the air. More than once, he had to catch himself, managing to straighten his spine enough to keep him horizontal.

He couldn't see where he was going as the rain persisted, still adamantly unrelenting. The seeping darkness further worsened his sight and he practically flew blind through the heartless weather. In the end, he had to simply trust his faith in Nathan to keep him on course.

As his desperate adrenaline rush began to ebb away, agony practically stabbed him when all of his wounds were made known at once. He yelled out, his flight halted. Eyes rolling in their sockets, Peter lost all control, plummeting back down towards the ground.

Drenched hair whipped back as he fell headfirst, completely limp and pliant. Gravity had once again captured him as its prisoner…

The raindrops raced him, keeping pace with him as he cut through the open air, nothing to stop his inevitable collision.

_Peter._

Peter's brow furrowed, heavy lids pulled back by the velocity of his descent, eyes still rolling.

_Peter._

His fists clenched by his sides, nails digging into the ripped skin of his palms. Each muscle began to tense, his body preparing itself for his mind to awaken.

_Peter!_

Intense irises appeared, along with pupils the size of pinpricks as he struggled back to alertness. With tremendous effort, he dragged himself upwards so that his stomach was facing the floor. Bending his one knee slightly, trying not to aggravate the knife wound, he kicked out, shooting forwards like a bullet in a desperate attempt to rectify his weakness.

But despite saving himself from becoming a splatter on the hard ground, Peter couldn't pull up any higher: his pain-threshold long since surpassed.

He saw the wall first, his spine somehow granting him the ability to twist just enough to avoid it. And then, a large garden of grass followed, which he welcomed obligingly. After all, grass was much better than pavement.

Peter hit the ground hard, grunting at the contact. His body flipped in the air, before landing back down again and rolling haphazardly across the now churned up grass. His reprieve had, kindly, been granted long before he slumped to a stop, his mind finally allowing him to escape the hurts of his physical form.

Laid lifelessly across the garden floor, Peter looked like a broken toy: pale and with arrayed limbs strewn about him. His eyes were tightly closed, but the blood from his nose and lips continued to flow, aided by the cruel rain.

It was the only sign that he was still alive.

And, with the hands of time positioned against him, that wasn't going to be for much longer…

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_... Oops? :/.  
_

_Anyone who has read my fics before for other shows knows that I have a real bad tendency to severely injure the main characters (sorry!)._

_I hope you all liked it and please review to let me know what you think!!! :D_

_The next chapter brings in Nathan and Angela Petrelli, and I'll try to get it done so I can update asap._

_Thanks for reading!!! :):):)._

_Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;)._


	3. A Clock Is Ticking

_Hey y'all :):):)._

_I needed to bring this up, but I got a review for the last chapter saying that it was "disgusting". I am very sorry if any other readers felt this way, but in my stories I like to relate to real-life stories as much as possible. Lots of things happen in life that aren't pleasant and sometimes the world can be a very dark and sinister place. I always like to make sure that what I write is not entirely fantasy based: bad things happen to good people, that's just how it is. _

_However, if any other readers were a bit wary about my writing, then please explain to me why you think this and I will tone down the graphic-ness of what I upload, okay? :D. _

_Anyway, rant over and done with for today hehehehe. _

_This next chapter involves the other Petrellis: has a lot of brotherly love (from Nathan's POV), and also explains where Nathan got the idea to tell the public about Peter's "mental affliction" from ;). _

_Thank you very much for all reviews and story alerts/favorites that I've received so far: they all make me smile loads!!! :)._

_Hope you all enjoy!!!_

_

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_

Playlist: -

The Script - The Man Who Can't Be Moved

Lostprophets - Everyday Combat

Avenged Sevenfold - Scream

Kate Havnevik - Nowhere Warm _  
_

Lifehouse - Everything

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**Chapter 2: A Clock Is Ticking.**

Angela Petrelli was pacing. That was never a good sign. She briskly walked from one end of the dining room to the other, making as if to leave, before she practically pirouetted on her heels and walked back again.

Nathan sighed quietly, knowing that if he did it too loud his mom's almighty glare would spear him instantly. He fingers drummed against the table's surface, the other hand supporting his chin as he did so. The dining room was empty save for him and his mother – he'd sent Heidi and the kids off to another room a few minutes ago.

They needed to be out of Angela's explosive anger when Peter eventually did turn up.

Titling his wrist, squinting at the time his watch supplied, he sighed louder. _Half an hour late… where the hell are you Peter?_

The distinct lack of clacking heels against the tiled floor made him realise that he now had his mother's full attention and he met her gaze unflinchingly. Raising his hands in a surrender-like gesture, he spoke gently: "I didn't say anything."

"I know, but I know what you're thinking."

She began to pace again and Nathan ran a hand through his hair.

Neither spoke, until the eldest Petrelli brother broke the uncomfortable silence. "You sure he didn't forget, Ma? He's been a bit, I don't know, absentminded these past couple of days."

Absentminded was a serious understatement. Peter had been living in a fantasy world, convinced that they could save the world, that they were heroes. Yes, they could fly, but that was it. It was just a freak inconvenience as far as Nathan was concerned.

_He even jumped off a building to prove he could do it. _

Scrubbing a hand across his face, Nathan glanced out of the window, watching the raindrops race down the window pane. The weather was a bitter reflection of their lives at the moment: cruel, cold, unpredictable, hectic…

_And why now, of all times?! _Nathan groaned inwardly. He was running for congress, in a pivotal moment of his career and then this had to go and happen. His ability, Peter's delusions of grandeur - it was almost as if someone was willing him to fail.

He looked up, catching a hint of concern flash over Angela's face as she too stared out of the window. But then it was gone again, replaced by the cold mask of indifference that Nathan had become so accustomed to over the years.

"He's fine," Nathan voiced, even though he was pretty sure his mother would deny any claims that she was worried anyway. "Probably just can't catch a cab in this weather."

Angela glanced at him before staring back at the window. She began picking subconsciously at the sleeve of her lace shirt, her nails scratching against the fabric. Then she replied, "He won't have taken a cab."

"What? Why?"

Sighing, she relented, pausing in her movements. Her hands gripped the top of her chair as she stood opposite her eldest, "Because he won't want to waste the money. He isn't exactly rolling in it at this moment in time."

"He can't afford a cab?" Nathan asked incredulously, honestly surprised at Peter's apparently dire financial situation. "Well, why didn't he say something? Didn't you offer to lend him some?"

"Of course I did. He refused, as always. As stubborn as his father was."

The way in which Angela bristled at his words made Nathan back down a bit and he fell silent. Peter had refused money, again. _Why do you always have to be so stubborn Pete? _He knew that his little brother liked to try and make his own way in the world, to break free of the Petrelli expectations, but this was taking it a little too far.

Grasping his hands in his lap, Nathan shook his head. "He never said anything to me."

"He wouldn't. He'd never want to appear weak in your eyes, Nathan." Angela studied her son's reaction, noting the underlying guilt that rested on his face. "What would you have done if he had told you?"

"… Helped him!"

"Like I tried to?" His defiant expression slid then and she lifted her head superiorly. "Do you think I want to watch him struggle, Nathan? That I haven't noticed how thin he's gotten because he hasn't been eating properly?"

Nathan didn't reply.

He had wondered if it was just him that had noticed the steady decline in Peter's weight. When he had caught him, that day that Peter had jumped, was when he had truly noticed how skinny he'd gotten. It was true that he hadn't been able to hold on because of the difficulty of trying to support them both, but in any other less heart-stopping moments, he may have been able to.

Realisation struck him fast as lightning struck outside and his face fell instantly. "So you mean he's out," he pointed towards the window violently, "_walking_ in this?!"

Angela didn't meet his eye as she nodded and Nathan bolted to his feet. He took another sharp glance at the window, the rain lashing cruelly against it in an attempt to break inside. He inwardly shuddered at the thought of his little brother wandering the streets of New York in this weather.

"Where are you going, Nathan?" he was asked sharply as he headed for the door. He tried to restrain himself from any snarky comments – they would certainly not be appreciated.

Swivelling on his heel, he met his mother's sincere eyes with a pair of his own: "To go and find him."

Angela didn't reply. She merely sidestepped around a chair and sat down, overlapping one leg with the other as she considered him. Her long fingers reached out along her black skirt, smoothing out any miniscule creases to maintain her pristine image.

Coolly, she spoke, "Don't be so brash, Nathan. It is most unbecoming of a congressman to be so impulsive all of the time."

"How can you say that?"

"Because it's the truth," she snapped back, that always condescending motherly tone creeping into her voice. "I know how you feel, Nathan. I had wanted this meal to be a comfort for Peter. To let him know that he still has his family around him."

Nathan raised an eyebrow, sagging against the doorframe, "Or at least to get him to eat for once."

A smile, genuine and bright, rose on the Petrelli woman's face at that and Nathan felt instant relief. He had begun to pick up on signs of a mother-son argument, where, as always, the mother always came out on top. _Disaster averted._

"It wouldn't surprise me if he's forgotten, you know," Nathan added as an afterthought, making his way back into the room. His automatic protectiveness over their youngest family member had calmed in its rage for the moment, and he took it as an opportunity to backtrack quickly.

Collapsing into the nearest chair, he pressed his palm into his right eye, rubbing away the sleep. The stress of the last couple of days was really beginning to take its toll.

"He's been through quite an ordeal recently."

"Yeah," whispered the elder brother, letting his hand flop uselessly to his side.

It was the truth that, suddenly, Peter had taken a serious tailspin. Rambling on about being able to fly, even if it was true, was never a sign of a mentally healthy person. Then, jumping off a roof and nearly dying to prove his theory right. Quitting his job to follow some half-assed fantasy about 'saving the world'…

Nathan shook his head, contemplating the questionable actions that Peter had carried out lately. "He's losing his mind."

Pursing her lips, Angela watched her eldest seem to sink lower in his chair. She should have been proud that she had been wrong about Nathan: it appeared that he did care about someone other than himself. But, at such a pivotal moment in his life when he was about to be elected for congress, the crushing despair she sensed in him would most certainly not bode well.

"Even if he is, we knew that it was a possibility." His intelligent hazel eyes rose to gaze at her and the pure emotion she caught lurking there almost threw her off guard. "Your father was the same, Nathan. Out of the two of you, the one who was most likely to inherit his illness was Peter."

"So what do we do?"

Finished with her unnecessary straightening of her dress, Angela interlaced her hands, resting them neatly on her lap. She paused for a moment, most likely for dramatic effect Nathan suspected. Angela Petrelli never had difficulty finding the right words.

"We use it," his jaw dropped but she ignored it. "You're still behind in the polls and there's been no indication of you catching up. This could be a turning point in your campaign."

Once more, the elder Petrelli brother was on his feet, fingers now raking through his delicately combed hair. He scoffed indignantly, stopping to stare down at the stoic woman. "You want me to use Peter for political gain?"

"Yes."

"H-How can you be so…?" _Cold? Heartless? _He wasn't sure what word should follow. But the thought of using someone as innocent and self-sacrificing as Peter to increase his chances of being elected was just wrong. "No, I can't do that."

The chin tilted, trying to invoke superiority in the situation, "Why, because he's your brother?"

"Yes! And it's wrong, using Peter in that way."

Angela cleared her throat. "I love that child, Nathan. But you know as well as I do that he does not contribute well to our family expectations. I am proud that he has found his own way and, as I've said, I have always wanted a nurse in the family." She sighed deeply. "Peter is not what the public eye would view as being a _true_ Petrelli."

_That's bullshit, _Nathan thought silently. At first, he had been opposed to the idea of Peter going into medicine. _All_ Petrellis were lawyers – it was practically the family emblem. But, when seeing how happy it had made his little brother, he couldn't be disappointed with the decision.

Petrellis were headstrong, self-serving, were always top of the class and immediate symbols of power. Peter had always been different to the typical Petrelli image. He was empathic, always looking out for others before himself. He didn't care about becoming powerful and, especially, had no interest in becoming a lawyer.

In the end, Nathan was proud of Peter – he had made his own path in life. It took a lot of courage to disregard their father's expectations and even more to make it without any of his support. _Guess he got the 'headstrong' part of the Petrelli image then. _

"You'd rather the public eye viewed him as mentally unstable?"

The question literally hurt to say. It felt like a stab in the chest at even thinking the words 'Peter' and 'mentally unstable' in the same sentence. It stung all the more when Nathan knew that he was actually telling the truth about flying and everything he spoke about.

_He's just taking the wrong approach. Something like this, it should be kept secret. People are always scared of things that are different. _

Studying his mother's face, Nathan found himself despising the mask that she always wore to cover her emotions. It made her seem too hard and unfeeling in the world of compassion that Peter chose to inhabit.

"It would benefit you."

"And what about Peter? How could it possibly benefit him?"

The corners of her lips lifted slightly, no real happiness behind the smile. "You're his brother. He hero-worships you still, after all these years. I have no doubt that he will be upset by it at first, but, when he realises how much it will contribute, he won't object."

Leaning on the table, his hands clenched into fists as the cruel suggestions registered in his brain, Nathan muttered darkly, "You're asking me to betray his trust."

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic Nathan."

Angela sat poker-straight in her chair, annoyance creeping in at Nathan's sudden development of a conscience. _Such inconvenient timing… _She watched him struggle with himself internally, already knowing which aspect of his personality would win out.

Nathan _was _a Petrelli, through and through. He would always be a role-model and, consequently, power would always be his personal treasure chest to strive for. He wouldn't throw all that away to simply spare his overly-sensitive little brother's feelings.

"You know," managed the whispery voice after a moment. "I think we should postpone this meal for tonight."

He spoke in the way all politicians were supposed to: detached and to the point. He was basically shutting down any remains of the conversation and making a quick exit. It was his way of saying that he wanted nothing more than to run out of the door with his family and never look back.

And, to her credit, Angela said nothing, merely inclining her head a fraction.

Mimicking her, Nathan turned, reaching the door with quick, practised steps. He needed to get out of this house _now_. He couldn't breathe, his mind drowning in the implications and suggestions that had been thrust harshly upon him.

_I need time to think this through. _

"Nathan."

He heaved a heavy breath, shoulders hunching in anticipation as he stopped. Refusing to turn around, he simply tilted his head to the side slightly, indicating that he was indeed listening.

The Petrelli woman pulled her lips into a tight line as she noticed Nathan's reluctance to turn around. "If you see Peter, tell him that I would like to speak to him." The strong shoulders seemed to tense considerably. "We have matters to discuss."

Remaining silent, Nathan briskly left the room, seething at his mother's final words. What could she possibly have to say to his brother that would be worth saying? Surely not a reprimand about being late when what she had been discussing was unspeakably cruel towards him.

Hypocrisy, thy name is Angela Petrelli.

He hadn't realised how infuriated he must have appeared until he walked into the living room. Monty and Simon instantly stopped playing at his 'about-to-explode' expression and Heidi turned in her wheelchair to regard him seriously.

"What happened?"

Nathan loved his wife, there was no doubt about it, but he couldn't discuss this now. Not when his blood was boiling and his mind was overloaded with persistent thoughts. He was barely holding it together as it was.

"We're leaving," he said, not looking at Heidi or his sons. All he wanted was to get out of this house so that he could just calm down. When he noticed that nobody was moving, he added, "_now_."

Thank God, they took the message.

Heidi gently told their boys to grab their coats and sent them out to the car, wrapped up tightly against the bitter rain. Only once they had gone did she look up towards her husband. His whole frame was bowed, one hand clutching tightly onto the back of an armchair: his knuckles stark-white as he gripped on.

She slowly wheeled her chair towards him, stopping just before him. As an act of comfort, she rested her hand atop his, her thumb already tracing soothing circles over his skin.

A shaky breath passed his lips and an expressive gaze met hers sadly, "I'm sorry. I just…" He broke off, dropping into a crouch in front of her, clutching her hand with both of his own. "I can't stay here right now. Do you understand?"

"No, I don't," she replied softly, before drawing her head towards his own and planting a tender kiss on his cheek. "But I trust you, Nathan. If you say you need to go, then for whatever reason, I'll come with you."

Nathan smiled, returning the kiss gratefully. Rising steadily to his feet, he walked around her, gripping the handles of her wheelchair and pushing steadily towards the door. He didn't know what he was going he was going to tell her. She deserved to know the truth of why he was acting this way, but revealing that side of his mother was not something he wanted to do. It personally scared him a little.

_And Peter, _he realised sadly, wondering why his brother seemed to always attract unwanted attention. Nathan could only hope that Peter had indeed forgotten about their arrangements tonight and would be well out of Angela's clutches for at least a little while.

For the rest of the journey home, Nathan remained utterly silent, his thoughts always straying back to the puppy-like expression that always adorned his baby brother's young face.

_How could I ever hurt you, Peter?

* * *

_

Wearily, Nathan wheeled Heidi into the house, telling his sons to go up to bed. Upon seeing their pleading faces, he added, without missing a beat, that he would send some food up to them later. With that, they bounded merrily away, laughing and joking all the way up the stairs.

"Nathan," began the dark-haired woman as Nathan pushed her into the spacious dining room. Stopping, he moved past her, reaching the long table and collapsing into the nearest chair opposite it tiredly. "What's wrong?"

Looking at her with a guarded expression, Nathan shook his head. "I don't… I don't know if I can go into it right now, Heidi. I'm not sure even I understand it."

"Is it to do with Peter?"

The elder Petrelli said nothing, dropping his gaze and staring down at his clasped hands on the table top. Heidi sighed, _Of course._ There was only one person who could get under Nathan's skin and make him so worried and brooding without even having to be present to do it – Peter.

"Is he okay?" she asked, her own concern peaking through for the young nurse. Peter had been like a little brother to her since the day they had first met. She loved him as such and wasn't beyond mothering him if he needed it.

Nathan sagged further. "I don't know."

Flinching at the admission, Heidi moved her wheelchair closer, her hand grabbing his arm tightly, squeezing. Nathan was always certain about everything. He knew how to go about handling his campaign, how to stave off his mother's questions and accusations, how to take care of his brother…

If he wasn't sure about this one thing, then they were really in trouble.

Swallowing, knowing solemnly that she was about to cross into dangerous territory, Heidi murmured, "It was your mother, wasn't it? She's done something."

As though he had been electrocuted, Nathan leapt to his feet, pulling away from Heidi's touch. "Go and tell Sarah to prepare some food," he spoke with evasion, his voice low as he strode away. "I'm gonna go check on the boys."

He didn't wait for her to answer as he practically bound up the stairs to escape her questions. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, but until he got a handle on what he had been told, he couldn't speak aloud about it.

His hand once again weaved its way through his hair: the already arrayed locks now tangled further. His pristine image was the least of his problems at the moment. _Although Ma would have something to say about it, that's for sure._

He reached Simon's room, hearing his sons speaking in hushed tones. However, Monty's abrupt giggling every few seconds ruined the secretive moment that the two were clearly trying to share. Smiling to himself, Nathan knocked, the voices quietening immediately.

"Boys, it's just me. Can I come in?"

He heard a gentle '"yes", no doubt from his eldest, and he entered. His eyes fell on the two huddled together on the floor, Monty leaning near to Simon as though listening to a story. Nathan paused, watching the two as they likewise did the same to him. "What're you up to?"

"I'm telling Monty a story," Simon replied, before pointing to the rain-lashed window. "The storm was scaring him, so I was telling him about how it was just God holding a party."

Raising an eyebrow, Nathan approached, sitting himself on the edge of the small bed. "Really?" his lips curled at the interaction between his sons. _Just like how Peter and I used to hang out. _Turning his attention to his youngest, he asked, "You like that story, Monty?"

Leaping to his feet, Monty dove at Nathan, wrapping his small arms tightly around his waist, "Uh-huh. 'Cause, thunder is just the audience clapping for the different circus acts that God invited, a-and, the lightning is one of the tricks they do!"

Nathan's grin widened further as he stroked Monty's hair before he winked at Simon. "Yep, that's all it is."

The lightning flashed outside the window and the young boy tensed instantly in his hold, whimpering. Apparently the story hadn't quite had the intended effect that Simon had wanted. Nathan soothed him quietly, murmuring gentle reassurances in his ear as he held him close.

Peter had been the same way whenever there had been a thunderstorm. It had taken ages for Nathan to reassure the youngest Petrelli that the lightning wasn't coming to hurt him. It was just trying to say hello to him.

The phrasing perhaps hadn't been his best. The next time there had been a tremendous storm, Nathan had, by some merciful chance, happened to see Peter rushing outside into the oncoming rain. The young child had raced towards the lightning, raising his arms wide and screaming his greetings back at the flashes in the sky.

Nathan shuddered at the memory. He remembered the fear as he raced outside, managing to grab his brother and carry him hurriedly back inside. He had shouted and raged about how stupid Peter had been, his racing heart fuelling his anger.

But then Peter had cried.

And the anger was gone.

He had softened then, hugging the sobbing boy and comforting him. Nathan had sat them both down, explaining that he was just worried. The thing was, the lightning did want to meet him, but because it was so powerful, it couldn't control its own strength.

"_If it had managed to speak to you, Peter, it would have hurt you by mistake."_

_The five-year-old had frowned, his dark eyes flicking back towards the howling storm. __He glanced back at Nathan, his tear-stained face glistening in the dim lights. "What's the point of it being so strong, if it can't control it?"_

"_Because," Nathan began, brushing the wet bangs from his brother's eyes, "there always have to be strong things in the world, Pete."_

"…_Like people?"_

"_Yeah," the elder Petrelli replied. "There have to be strong people in the world so that they can help those who can't look after themselves. But, even with that strength, not everything that happens is within our control. You understand?"_

_The brow, if possible, creased further and Nathan inwardly groaned. He hated explaining things to kids – they were too damn innocent to understand them. And Peter, well, he was just the most innocent of the lot of them. _

"_S-So… the lightning does still like me?"_

_Smiling at the tentativeness of the question, Nathan nodded assertively. "Sure it does! It's just like you trying to give an elephant a hug. The elephant might wanna hug you back, but it'd just end up squishing you."_

"_Like a pancake!" burst out the younger brother as he bounced on the seat, holding Nathan's hands for support. They had both laughed at that and then, Nathan tugged Peter close, ruffling his hair before kissing him softly on the forehead. _

_Thin arms wrapped around his back and they had embraced warmly, simply enjoying the moment. "Yeah Pete," Nathan murmured, watching the storm from over Peter's mop of hair. "Just like a pancake…"_

"Come on Monty," Nathan urged softly, lifting his youngest boy and leading him to the window. He held his hand as Simon approached his other side and he pointed ahead blindly at the darkness, to where he knew their garden lay hidden. "The lightning's gonna help us, okay? When it flashes, it's going to show you what everything looks like at night."

He chuckled at Monty's wondrous expression as he pressed his face against the glass. A second later, Simon mimicked him, squinting against the darkness and waiting for the explosion of light.

It happened swiftly.

Simon and Monty gasped, taking in the illuminated skyline. Dark clouds were carved out in the enraged sky that hung over their house. The garden posed little interest to them – the sky was much more endearing.

But for Nathan, who had touched the sky freely with his own two hands, found his gaze being drawn down to the garden.

Involuntarily, his jaw slackened and his hand released Monty's as he gaped. He could clearly make out the churned up grass, nothing more than mud-ridden trails left behind in their stead. But what truly grabbed his attention was a shape lying at the end of this ruined pathway. It was motionless, oblivious to the storm and rain: a lifeless body strewn out brokenly on the ground.

Nathan leant closer, staring in disbelief. _It can't be…_

But something in the pit of his stomach told him it was. A past fear from when he had been only seventeen struck him. It was the night of a storm, the night that he had raced outside in terror to retrieve a young child: his baby brother.

Tears were already shimmering in his hazel eyes, his fingers pressing against the glass. The flash was soon to vanish and Nathan was left staring at nothing, his face a reflection of despair in the window pane.

"Peter?"

* * *

_... Not sure if that's a cliffie or not :/._

_Hope you liked it (were Nathan and Angela's characters portrayed correctly with how I wrote them?) and please leave me a review!!! :D._

_Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;)._


	4. Holding Out For A Hero

_Hey y'all :):):)._

_Whoa! I am so stunned at the response to this story so far - thank you so much to everyone who reviewed/added to favorites/story alerted this fic =D. Wow! I'm so chuffed!!! hehehe._

_This chapter is of course, going to be very angst-filled - Nathan and Peter are going to be reunited (in the midst of a storm, which is always good for dramatic value lol). _

_I will warn you prior to reading that this will contain a lot of very, very, insanely badly hurt Peter so to any fans who hate to see our adorable youngest Petrelli injured, you should probably not read it. However, for any fans of handsome, Superman, hero-of-the-day Nathan, by all means read on to see if he can, once again, be his brother's hero =D._

_I was a little bit iffy about the dream sequence at the end - hopefully you'll be able to get the inner meaning I'm trying to enforce beneath it all, but if not, it's cool and I won't be offended (I was a bit confuzzled writing it =P)._

_So, I really hope you all enjoy!!!_

_

* * *

_Playlist:-

Bonnie Tyler - Holding Out For A Hero. (Cliched, I know - blame the awesome Heroes video makers on YouTube for the obsession with the song =P)

Nickelback - I'd Come For You.

Red Hot Chilli Peppers - City Of Angels.

Evanescence - Bring Me To Life.

* * *

**Chapter 3****: Holding Out For A Hero.**

Nathan couldn't even remember when he had left his sons and raced desperately down the stairs. His mind had erased the comical image of their maid as he nearly ploughed into her and almost knocked the carefully prepared food flying.

There was only one coherent though in his mind – everything else was a pointless distraction.

Feet barely gracing the floor, Nathan made it to the front door in record time, his ability attempting to aid his plight. _Oh God, oh God, oh God! _Those two words were a constant mantra in his head, becoming more and more urgent with each panicked repeat.

The wind had pummelled him as he opened the door, rain spraying him and drenching him within minutes. Nathan spluttered, raising an arm to shield his face as he forced himself to move.

The thunder snarled at him as he crossed into its territory. Grey clouds rumbled, shifting restlessly above as they watched the proceedings with interest.

Nathan's feet slipped on the ground, mud sloshing up his legs and trying to drag him under. His eyes squinted blankly through the rain and darkness and he stumbled on. A line of lightning ripped through the overcast sky and the politician went to one knee, gasping in surprise.

He lifted his head, hair hanging loosely down onto his creased brow. Taking note of his position before the light left him, Nathan pushed off. His entire body lifted off of the ground, sending him careening several feet forwards while the wind battled with his lithe frame.

_I'm coming. I'm coming…_

Landing with an uncertain skid as he tried to find his balance, Nathan managed to force his legs to run again. He had caught sight of the immobile shadow lying ahead of him, and, like a man possessed, hurtled towards it. It was his target and he'd be damned if he didn't hit it now.

"Peter!"

His voice was swept away instantly by the wind. Thunder laughed tauntingly and the rain persisted in its assault, weighing him down and attempting to pin him to the swamp-like floor.

A mere foot from his destination, Nathan lost his footing, falling and sliding across the mud-trail. His head thumped against something soft and he felt the body beneath him roll limply with his momentum. Digging his hands into the ground, Nathan grunted, stopping any further movement.

Mud splattered the side of his face and he blinked, trying to clear it from his eyes. He remained frozen for a moment, trying to get his bearings as his water-logged form shivered in the weather.

Then he came back to himself suddenly.

"Peter!" he cried, pushing himself up and instantly grabbing onto the figure that lay splayed out beneath him. The realisation struck him hard that Peter hadn't even moved, or made a noise, at being slammed into by the full 5'10 mass of his big brother.

Turning him over, Nathan gasped. Even with the loss of light, Peter looked terrible. Deepening shadows lurked beneath his eyes, but they were outmatched by the torn and flayed skin that covered one side of the younger brother's face. Blood ran freely from his nose and the corners of his mouth, the red stain standing out starkly in contrast to his bleach-white pallor.

Cradling him in his arms, Nathan tapped the lax face gently, waiting for a response. "Peter?"

None was granted.

"Peter!" he cried, shaking the body he held and watching the lifeless head roll back over his arm. Pressing trembling fingers to the exposed neck, Nathan waited for his brother's pulse to reply him. He shut his eyes, praying silently to the storm above.

_Please. Don't let him be dead, please!_

And there it was: the minute, lethargic beat of Peter's compassionate heart.

Drawing in a breath that he hadn't even realised he had been holding, Nathan removed his fingers, now cupping the back of the younger man's head. The soaked hair ran through his fingers as he raised Peter higher into his arms, trying to prevent him drowning.

Lifting a thumb, Nathan attempted to wipe away the freely flowing blood from his brother's nose and mouth. To his dismay, the stain returned vigorously, trickling violently over his skin and to the floor. _Shit, _he inwardly exclaimed before changing tactics and brushing Peter's pale cheek, trying to elicit some reaction.

"Peter, can you hear me?" The gentle tone was once again drowned out by the tormenting thunder and Nathan turned, glancing up at the overhanging clouds. He squinted and found himself cringing as a line of lightning slashed through the grey masses towards them.

Grabbing one of his brother's arms, knowing that if his panicked cries weren't enough to wake him then nothing else would at this time, Nathan looped it over his broad shoulders. Resting his own arm around Peter's drenched back and the other under his knees, Nathan struggled to his feet, the rain trying to stop his movements.

The feeling of Peter, his body utter deadweight in his arms, shook Nathan. His brother had always been so full of life, always trying to help people, to make everyone smile even when they didn't feel like it.

_Why aren't you smiling now, Pete?_

Hoisting the limp form higher, wincing as the mop of hair flopped back weakly against his arm, Nathan span. The house lay somewhere ahead of him, but the constantly raining sheet of the storm proceeded to hinder his efforts at locating it. More than once as he stumbled forth, he was utterly blinded as drops of water managed to sneak between his eyelashes and sting his eyes.

"Damn it!" he cried, more than once feeling Peter's soaked body slip from his grasp. He gripped the bloodied coat in his hold tighter, constantly shifting his position and trying to support his brother amidst the storm.

Again, he stumbled, one knee buckling and sinking instantly into the mud. Peter's legs hit the floor with a squelched thud and Nathan gripped the upper part of his frame in desperation, trying to stop their descent. The one looped arm steadily began to slip down Nathan's broad back while the other lay limp and dejected beneath them.

A sob ripped itself from his throat as Nathan stared down at his brother's impossibly pale face, unaffected by what was going on around him. Peter's lips, tinged a light shade of blue, were parched, perhaps still struggling for air in his almost comatose state.

"Peter…" he whispered, hoping beyond hope that the younger Petrelli would simply bound upright, grin in his adorable way and hug him as he always did when Nathan was worried.

Peter remained compliant and still – hope always was overrated.

Tears mingled with rain as Nathan attempted to wrench his knee out of the ground. He felt so weighed down, physically, emotionally… he didn't even know if he could keep going anymore.

He gasped, sniffing as he lowered his forehead to Peter's cold one, their noses practically touching. "Come on, Pete. Don't do this to me again."

Nathan still remembered the day when Peter had jumped from that building. He remembered his last words before he took the leap, not even sure if he would survive and only using faith as his safety net.

"_It's my turn to be somebody Nathan!"_

The elder brother swallowed, hazel eyes staring resolutely into Peter's closed ones, praying that their close proximity would somehow remind him that he was there.

Didn't Peter realise that he already was?

He was Nathan's baby brother. He was the heart of the Petrelli family, the only one who honestly seemed to care about anything other than their own personal vendettas. He was the dreamer who always knew that there was better out there; that everyone could make a difference if they wanted.

_You're the best of all of us, Pete._

The day Peter jumped, Nathan was sure, would haunt him forever. There was the relief at catching him, but then the immediate horror that followed as he realised they were spinning out of control. His nails had dug deeply into Peter's arm as he tried to control their flight, so deep that Nathan had noticed the marks later on still residing there: a reminder of his failure.

Peter had slipped, both scrambling desperately to hold on. There was the briefest moment when their eyes had connected – hazel on hazel…

And then he'd let go.

Nathan's hand was left reaching out uselessly, his screams echoing along the alleyway as he watched Peter plummet the next 25-feet to land strewn brokenly across the floor. He'd managed to drop himself gently from his suspended position to land in a crouch, despite his furiously beating heart. His feet had barely touched the ground before he was racing to Peter's side.

He'd looked so lifeless, eyes closed with a look of peace painted over his expression. Nathan had tried to rouse him while phoning for an ambulance, being greeted with the tiniest twitch of a finger. He had waited for help to come, cradling Peter and watching over him dutifully all the while.

_I can't keep watching you get hurt, _Nathan thought, pulling back and severing their brief connection, now watching over Peter just like before. _It's killing me, Peter. _

Again, the thunder screamed and Nathan's face set into one of grim determination. Regaining his grip on Peter, he rose to his feet steadily, one foot dashing in front of the other as he headed towards safety. He refused to let Peter even slip this time, his hold so secure that there was no chance of him falling.

_I won't let you go this time._

Lightning lit up the darkened world and Nathan took his opportunity. Pushing off of one foot, he rose from the floor, shooting like a bullet towards the house. Peter's body was pressed close to his own as the wind fought against them and Nathan bowed his body in an attempt to shield him from the worst of its assault.

Night descended again and Nathan's feet hit the floor, breaking into a run as he tried to slow their momentum. He skidded briefly but refused to fall, knowing that if he did, he would never manage to get back up again.

Reaching the front door, that he realised thankfully he had left slightly open, Nathan barged it out of the way. He edged both him and Peter through the doorway, his brother's frame now, to his horror, hanging completely in his arms.

As he began to stride forwards, Heidi came into view, any questions she had been preparing to ask dying on her lips as she saw them. Her bright blue eyes widened to incredible proportions, mouth gaping in shock.

"Call an ambulance!" Nathan cried, his voice cracking. He heard the maid gasp as she appeared from the stairway and seeing that Heidi was still too stunned to move, he directed his next word towards her: "Now!"

Immediately she scrambled away and Nathan turned, entering the room on his left to locate the nearest couch. With as gentle ease as he could manage, he lowered Peter's body onto the cushions, adjusting his head as it flopped weakly to the side.

Exhaustion chose then to strike.

He fell to his knees, breathing heavily, his head thumping lightly against the younger Petrelli's chest. His body heaved, trying to still his panic as tears continued to fall. He knew that he should check out Peter's injuries, but what could he do about them?

He had no medical training – that was Peter's area of expertise.

"Nathan."

Tilting his head, Nathan blinked slowly to see Heidi approaching, her gaze locked solely on the young nurse's form. He sniffed, pushing himself upright onto his knees, leaving one hand to rest on Peter's chest. He needed to feel it rising and falling. He needed to know that his baby brother was still alive.

Heidi slowed to a stop beside them, a hand rising to cover her mouth. Blood caked the whole of one side of Peter's face, thick blood still racing from his nose and mouth. His back seemed to be arching slightly, bubbles of blood forming and bursting at the corners of his lips. He was struggling to breathe, that much was certain.

"God, Nathan," she sobbed, looking from Peter to her husband, then back again. "What happened?"

Nathan just shook his head, his fingers curling in the sodden red hoodie that Peter always seemed to wear. He had often wondered why Peter always seemed to want to appear much younger than his years: hair in his face, typical teenage clothes, a dreamy expression always resting on his face…

The corner of one of the elder Petrelli's lips curled as he realised that there was no other way he could ever perceive his brother to be. _It's the puppy-dog eyes, _he sniffed loudly, _has to be. _

A hand rested on his shoulder and he flinched. He didn't want sympathy. He wanted Peter to be okay again, to laugh and joke and be his typical joyful self.

Shrugging off the comfort, Nathan murmured deeply, "He's not dead, Heidi." Moisture pooled in his eyes again as he stared, his gaze never deterring from Peter's face. "He's gonna be fine."

There was no reply and Nathan felt a pit begin to form in his stomach. What if Peter wasn't okay? What if this time he didn't just get up and walk away as though nothing had happened? What if he died, right here, before Nathan's very own eyes?

_He can't. He can't…_

But taking in the state of his brother now, already looking like death had claimed him, the politician understood with a stinging clarity that it was a strong possibility.

"Peter…"

He didn't even hear Sarah return, announcing with a shaking voice that the ambulance would arrive soon. Nor did he hear Heidi's gasp from behind him as she stared at his brother.

All he was aware of were Peter's eyes now staring at him, glassy and blank. He pushed himself upright, leaning over his brother and trying to get him to focus. His hands cupped the sides of Peter's face, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the bitterly cold skin.

"Pete? Peter, look at me, you're okay," he spoke softly, watching the eyes roll listlessly from side to side as they began to close again. "No, come on Pete, stay with me here."

He lightly tapped his brother's cheek, seeing the hazel eyes blink rapidly, glancing back at him tiredly. "That's it, Pete." He managed a small smile, trying to offer some form of comfort to the bleakness of the situation. "It's alright, I'm here. You're gonna be fine, okay?"

The statement would have been convincing had it not been for Nathan's breaking voice, each word seeming to wither in strength as the urge to cry tore at him.

A rumbling at the back of Peter's throat made his heart clench painfully and he watched the blue lips open weakly. Peter was trying to speak, that had to be a good sign, right?

"No, no, ssh, don't talk," the elder brother whispered, brushing back the wet bangs from Peter's face. "Help's on the way. They're gonna fix you up," he winked in reassurance, "good as new."

Shadowed eyelids fluttered, struggling against the pull of unconsciousness and Peter inhaled harshly, a grating sound cutting through Nathan like a rusted saw. Despite his willpower, a tear made its way past his defences cutting across his face and disappearing past his jaw.

The younger brother watched it with a saddened fascination, his own watery eyes quickly snapping back up to Nathan's. His lips parted again and he tensed against the pain as air rushed into his wounded and bleeding lungs.

Concentrating on making the one word that mattered, that would say everything he needed to, Peter sighed, the whisper weaving its way through his brother's pain and into his heart.

"Nathan…"

A broken laugh burst from Nathan's mouth and he nodded, his lip trembling. "Yeah," he brushed away the drooping hair again, his other thumb continually rubbing circles along Peter's uninjured cheekbone. "Yeah, I'm here Pete."

The pale lips quirked lightly: an attempt at a comforting grin. Then the expression became lax and the doe-like eyes began to roll, flashing their whites harshly against the dark shadows surrounding them.

Nathan froze, terrified as Peter began to convulse. The movements were becoming increasing violent, his body jerking harshly against the cushions as limbs twisted cruelly with each seize.

"No!"

Not even realising the cry had come from himself, Nathan leant closer to Peter, trying to calm him, to make it all stop. "Peter! Peter, please, stay with me!"

Suddenly pairs of hands were dragging him back and he fought, his eyes locked on the seizing form of his little brother. He kicked and thrashed, attempting to return to Peter's side, but the hands held him fast.

A face appeared in his vision and he glared darkly. "Let me go!"

"We're trying to help him, sir," spoke a voice calmly. "You have to stay back while we stabilise him."

Nathan's gaze trailed down the man and he noticed the medical bag he held. Help… it was here. Slowly, Nathan nodded and the hands released him. He stood blankly as he watched the paramedics race towards Peter's convulsing frame, feeling somewhat detached from the whole situation.

The words "cardiac arrest" and "respiratory failure" filtered through his mind but he didn't want to hear them. He simply stared at that small part of Peter's face that he could now see, those kind eyes still rolling harshly.

_Please… _he wasn't sure if it was a prayer: God wasn't really a prime factor in his life. But right now, if God could save his brother, he would accept faith willingly with open arms.

His head began to spin, dizziness assaulting him from all sides. The adrenaline rush had already faded as quickly as it had come and was swiftly replaced by a weary sense of defeat. Peter had been so hopeful. He had thought that their abilities meant they could be heroes.

Honestly, Nathan had tried.

He had flown a total of three times now and each time had resulted in someone he loved being hurt. The first was when Heidi was in the car crash that left her paralysed and Nathan had accidentally taken flight to escape unscathed. The second was when he had let go of Peter and allowed him to fall.

_The third, _the elder Petrelli watched as the paramedics struggled to hold Peter down, injecting something into his taut neck. _I didn't fly fast enough, and now he might…_

He didn't finish the thought. He couldn't bear to place his brother and the concept of death in the same sentence. He wasn't supposed to die: not so young and with his whole life ahead of him.

The room was turning rapidly now and he felt himself stumble, trying to regain some sense of balance as it was steadily diminished. He thought he heard Heidi calling out to him, but he couldn't latch onto it long enough to maintain control.

The ground vanished from beneath him and Nathan fell, his hand rising and stretching out. He knew nobody would catch him - he didn't deserve to be caught after all of his failings.

For a second, he was back in that alleyway, watching Peter fall away from him. It all happened in slow motion, the younger man's arms back peddling uselessly, trying to still his descent. Nathan's hand strained further, his mind screaming at his body to move, to swoop down and catch him again.

Peter gazed up at him with an accepting expression, the lopsided smile lifting his face. The arms stopped spinning, one reaching outwards, hand stretched in a silent plea.

"Nathan…"

Tears rolled down Nathan's face and he reached further, watching the distance between him and Peter extend tauntingly with each second. "Peter!"

The younger man continued smiling, his head bowing in a small nod. Then he hit the floor, neck cracking while endless amounts of blood spurted outwards like ripples on a disturbed lake. Empty eyes stared up at him, unseeing to the world.

Nathan recoiled in shock, his hand becoming still, hanging uselessly below him. He shook his head, hovering above the scene in disbelief.

_It didn't happen like this. No, this didn't happen. He didn't die! _

"Nathan!"

The woman's scream did nothing to stop him as he hit the floor. His head bounced against the carpet once before resting there. Allowing his eyes to close, Nathan let himself slip into darkness, unable to withstand the heartache any longer.

His last thought was of Peter, of how much he loved him, how he needed him more than he ever admitted to. He hoped that somehow, Peter would always know that.

Sadness stabbed deep within him as he relented, passing out into comforting oblivion.

_He didn't die…_

_

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_

_I needed some brotherly love in there: it makes me day complete! hehehehe._

_Yeah, the dream sequence is pretty confusing, but I hope you got the underlying message =]=]=]._

_Pretty please review and let me know what you think! (I'm loving the comments that I've had so far! =D)._

_Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;)._


	5. Hanging By A Moment

_Hey y'all :):):)._

_I'm sorry for the late update - hectic week is never good for my writing muse =/._

_Thank you for all the amazing reviews/story alerts/author alerts/favorite story alerts that I've gotten so far! They make me so darn happy =] hehehe.  
_

_In this chapter, we have the return of Angela who will be replacing Peter as, although he the key component to this chapter, he is absent throughout it (sadly =/). I love Peter, but it's hard to write him in when he's supposedly dying at this moment in time, which makes me rethink how I should have written this story lol. _

_However, to make up for lack of our wonderful empath, we have the handsome, dashing Nathan to get all angsty with us through this chapter =D. _

_For some reason, I was really iffy about this chapter. It may be the fact that I do spectacularly suck and writing hospital scenes (which is bad since in all my stories at least one person end up in hospital) so please, **please** tell me what you think -nervous smile-._

_Anyways, enjoy!!! (I may have to try and think of another one-shot to post to make up for the delayed update lol)._

* * *

Playlist:-

Fireflight - Forever

Foo Fighters - Learn To Fly

Sick Puppies - All The Same

Boys Like Girls - HeroHeroine

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**Chapter 4: Hanging By A Moment.**

The insistent tick of the overhanging clock dove deep into his subconscious, his eyes watching the tiny hand jerk forwards step-by-step. He hadn't realised before how long seconds took until he actually sat and watched them tick by.

They were, it seemed, increasingly taunting and cruel.

Sighing, Nathan leant back in the hard hospital chair, his head thumping weakly against the wall. Not even once did his gaze wander from the oblivious clock as it continued to tick by.

His choice was to either look at the slim hands that incessantly took away seconds of their lives, or at the operating room doors. He knew the doors were the worse option - somewhere beyond them, his baby brother lay, fighting for his life.

_This can't be happening, _he thought in despair, lowering his head into openly waiting hands. He clutched at his hair, tugging and pulling until it hurt. Tears welled in his eyes at the pain and he welcomed them. He wanted to cry at his own physical pain, rather than feel the agony of knowing what Peter was going through.

He wanted news and some answers to why this was happening.

Gasping, his fingers slackening and slipping through his tangled hair, Nathan stared down at his blood stained knees: _Peter's blood. _He stared at it with transfixion, fighting between the role of protective big brother who would stay put and wait, and his desire to enact swift revenge on the people who had done this to him.

With a small glance up at the clock again, counting twenty-three minutes and thirty four seconds since the surgery had started, Nathan slumped in the chair, already resigned. Big brother duties always came first. For now, revenge would have to wait.

And so that hand ticked on by again, bloodshot eyes that were now more red than hazel, watching it desperately.

Nathan hadn't seen Peter again after the seizure. His fainting incident, which in future he knew he would have to blatantly deny, had stolen that last moment from him.

He shook his head to remove the fateful words from his mind. It wasn't his _last _moment. There would be plenty more to come after this – Nathan decided that he might even tell Peter about his passing-out spectacle just to ensure that they could always look back on this and laugh.

He wished he could smile at the thought, or even attempt to imagine Peter's jibes while he giggled and teased Nathan over his total 'girl' moment. But every time his thoughts drifted back to his brother, Nathan found himself seeing him limp and broken in his arms, barely conscious as his eyes began to roll…

Nathan shuddered, leaning forwards and clasping his hands together past his knees. _He's gonna make it. He's going to be fine. _He found that assurances, be they weak and unsure, were a comfort and proceeded to repeat them in his head.

He couldn't lose Peter. Not like this…

Clacking footsteps alerted to him to someone's presence and he hesitantly lifted his head. He had been alone in the hallway since he had arrived, only the dark night sky outside being patient enough to keep him company as he waited out the torture.

His brow crinkled as he identified the visitor and saying nothing, he lowered his head back down into his waiting palms.

He figured Heidi must have been the one to call her – she certainly wasn't on his list of favourite people right now. As always, her face remained entirely impassive as she observed him and he refused to meet her cold gaze. Why did she even care? There was no reason for her to actually be here.

The silence was impending and an awkward sensation flitted down the hallway. Nathan bit his lip, trying to maintain his nonchalance and be the last one to speak. He knew she was watching him, as always, waiting for a response.

Eventually, tired of the tension, he relented. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for my son," she spoke evenly, taking a few courageous steps closer to the hunched-over man: a perfect picture of grief and sadness.

Nathan laughed bitterly, tilting his head to give her a sincere glance. "Which one: the one you tried to manipulate or the one you wanted to use for political gain?"

Her lips pursed, giving her the look of someone sucking furiously on a lemon and he tried to hold his resolve, struggling not to recoil as the temperature instantly dropped a few degrees. Angela regarded him seriously for a moment, her hands clasped together in her iconic pose of superiority and indifference.

"I never wanted to hurt you or Peter," she began calmly, moving in one swift stroke and seating herself next to her eldest. "I only want what's best for you."

"Is that what you're gonna tell Peter when everyone thinks he's mentally unstable?"

Again, she paused, giving him the same condescending look that he had been privy to growing up. Nathan met it unflinchingly. He was sick of being messed around, but more so, of Peter being hurt. When Peter got better, because he _was _getting better, Nathan would ensure that he would never be in pain again, no matter the cost.

Angela inhaled sharply through her nose, her elegant hands now resting lightly on her lap. "I know you want to protect him, Nathan," he looked away from her, glaring out of the window as he realised where this conversation would proceed to lead them. "But you can't."

The words, although not an outright accusation, stung harshly.

"Isn't _this_ proof enough for you?"

Had she not been a woman, and even more importantly, not been his biological mother, Nathan knew that his fist would have been flying at that moment. As it was, he simply tightened his knuckles until he was sure they would burst through his skin and struggled to hold his tongue.

Angela knew she had struck a nerve as Nathan tensed and she watched as his hands curled into impossibly tight fists. A tinge of regret arose but she repressed it as quickly as it had come. He needed to understand that certain things had to be done for the greater good – that despite his protective instincts, he wouldn't always be able to protect the ones that he loved.

"I'm gonna ask this again," Nathan spat out through gritted teeth, still staring out of the window. "What are you doing here?"

Sending a sideways glance, he found himself staring into a pair of sincere hazel eyes. After a moment, they softened slightly as she replied, "Heidi called me. She told me that she was worried about you being here by yourself."

"I'm fine."

"Yes, so fine that you just happened to keel over earlier tonight," he clenched his jaw and she merely shrugged. "Heidi was upset. It seemed that she needed to get some things off her chest."

Scoffing, Nathan stood up, raking a hand through his bedraggled hair once more. He began pacing, his even footsteps giving him something to focus on, to keep him grounded. Angela's cautious gaze watched him closely, taking in his pale, strained expression.

After the sixth pace from left to right, Angela sighed. "You should sit down."

Pointedly, pausing before resuming his walking, Nathan ignored her.

"Nathan, what good could you possibly be to Peter if you collapse again?"

He stopped, the operating room doors looming tauntingly ahead. He both craved for someone to appear from behind them, and for them to remain constantly closed. There was the need to know being gradually overshadowed by the want to keep hoping.

Shaking his head, Nathan span, hands on hips. "And what good am I being to him now, Ma?"

Her lack of answer was disconcerting and he closed his eyes, feeling moisture squeeze desperately between his lids. It was almost as if his body was willing him to cry, but he refused. To cry would be like admitting defeat – like admitting that Peter was gone.

The operating room doors flew open and Nathan jumped involuntarily, before turning. He instantly flinched at the man's scrubs: splattered with speckles of bright blood. Feeling his stomach begin to lurch violently, Nathan held a hand to his lips as the doctor approached, his expression too neutral for the elder brother to read.

"Nathan Petrelli I presume?" he greeted calmly, bright blue eyes studying Nathan's near-imperceptible nod before swivelling onto Angela's now standing form. He seemed to take in her stature for a moment, analysing what relation she might have to his patient until she abruptly took control.

"Peter is my son," she announced, stepping to Nathan's side and took a moment to glance up at him, as though expecting a snide comment at her introduction to answer her. When he remained silent, Angela turned back to the doctor. "How is he?"

Sighing, the doctor gestured to some seats. "Perhaps you should sit down."

"No, not until you tell me how my son is."

At the suggestion of sitting down, Nathan found a cold hand of fear grasping deep within his chest. Was this man expecting for them to collapse at the news? Already, he felt his knees trembling at the thought, but held them strong. He was a Petrelli, but more than that, he was Peter's big brother.

Peter deserved this: for him to hold himself together.

"Okay," the doctor replied steadily, a comforting expression on his face. "With no further complications, Peter will make a swift recovery," the two Petrellis let out an exhale of blessed relief, "but make no mistake that his injuries were very severe. He had five broken ribs, two of which had punctured his left lung and caused him to go into respiratory failure."

The vivid memory of Peter convulsing before him flashed in Nathan's mind and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push it away. He had no doubt that the rolling eyes and jerking frame of his baby brother's frail body would forever lurk as a remnant of harsher memories.

It would be something that he remembered until the day he died.

Not trusting himself to speak, Nathan discovered a reluctant sense of gratefulness towards his mother as she asked the questions he personally needed answers to. "Will he have any breathing difficulties?"

"He will be sore for the first couple of weeks or so, and I would have to strongly advise you from allowing him to get involved with any strenuous activities or anything that could cause him to become stressed."

Nathan almost let out an exasperated laugh at that, but simply settled for snorting in contempt. _No more jumping off of 15-storey buildings for you, Pete. _

The doctor took in the two people before him. The woman was staring at him with serious eyes, her gaze almost unblinking and beginning to border on creepy. He found himself diverting his eyes at the intensity of her look and took the opportunity to study his patient's brother.

The man looked awful, understandably. Dark shadows rimmed reddened eyes and his skin looked pinched and almost translucent. From a medical perspective, it appeared as though he should have also been admitted and the doctor had to restrain himself from suggesting it.

He could tell already that Petrellis didn't appreciate being told what to do.

Clearing his throat, the middle-aged medical professional continued, "Aside from the chest injuries, Peter is suffering from a concussion and, only as a precaution, we have put him under sedation to observe any possible swelling to his brain."

Angela nodded curtly. "If there is swelling, what affect would it have on him?"

"There is no way to be certain yet, Mrs Petrelli. The likelihood of swelling at the moment seems minor, but only if the signs present themselves can we then proceed with how to treat it." Another nod replied him. "Peter also had extensive bruising over his body, particularly on his hipbones."

At this, Nathan's head shot up and he frowned, straightening his stance. "His hips? What… what does that mean?"

Brushing back the dark, greying hair, the doctor met the pair's eyes separately, one after the other. Trying to work out how to best say what he was going to, he paused for a moment. There was no easy way to say what he was about to, but, he noted Nathan's appearance once more, he didn't want to be the cause of having to admit the elder Petrelli brother into the hospital.

"I believe that during the attack, Peter may have been a victim of rape."

And, just like that, whatever remaining colour had remained in Nathan's face was instantly drained.

The doctor took a step closer, fearful that the man would crumble at any moment. It seemed Angela Petrelli wasn't doing much better either. The strong resolve that she had held since she had arrived had been replaced by shock and sheer terror for her child.

"_What?_"

The woman's face contorted into a glare and the doctor found himself recoiling slightly. The disbelief in her tone was apparent – she clearly thought that believing he was lying was much easier than accepting the truth.

"We won't know anything until the results of the rape kit are returned," he bowed his head solemnly. "I am sorry."

Hesitantly, still concerned about the catatonic look that he seemed to be receiving from Nathan, the doctor turned. It wasn't that he wanted to leave the two clearly stunned people, but there was somebody else who was in much more need of his help: the cause of the distress that lingered depressingly behind him.

Peter Petrelli.

Angela watched as the man disappeared back behind the now swinging double doors, before heaving in a gasping breath. She wasn't sure how to react. Physical hurts she knew that, eventually, Peter could heal from, but mental ones?

_Someone touched my baby, _came the devastated thought, her motherly instincts that had so long been repressed coming to the forefront of his mind. Her vision seemed to be blurring as the tears formed, overwhelming her normally reserved demeanour.

Her head tilted to the side, staring at her eldest. She took in the blank stare he was wearing, the tremors that ran along his once so rigid and perfect posture. "Nathan," she attempted, reaching out a hand and resting it on his trembling arm.

He flinched at her touch, pulling away and focussing on her with a dark look. Trying again, Angela approached, reaching up to cup his cheek, "Nathan…"

"Don't touch me."

The voice was venomous and Angela found herself instantly stopping in her approach. Hazel eyes that normally sparkled with ambition and intelligence were now dull and harsh. She had known that, as siblings go, Peter and Nathan were surprisingly close considering the age gap between them, but she had never thought they were so deeply connected.

_It's almost as if what Peter's feeling is hurting Nathan, _she realised curiously, allowing her outstretched hands to fall back to her sides.

"Nathan, please…"

"Please what?" he snapped, cutting her off and glaring down at her. "You should be happy, Ma. You got what you wanted. After all this," Nathan raised his arms wide bitterly, "it wouldn't surprise me if Peter really was suicidal."

Closing her eyes, surprised by her own uncontrolled show of emotion, Angela felt the moisture in her eyes begin to well further. "Nathan." He turned, making as if to leave. Stopping him, grabbing his arm in a tight grip, Angela met his gaze with a similar one of her own, "Don't you ever speak to me like that again."

Shrugging out of her grip, Nathan walked briskly away. His heart felt as though it was compressing in his chest, his breathing quickening as panic took hold. Someone had touched his brother. _Peter…_

As he rounded the corner, the elder Petrelli lurched, retching violently. He coughed, dry-heaving at the thought of someone doing that to Peter: sweet, innocent, caring, loving Peter. One hand splayed out on the wall, Nathan's whole body bowed over as his body reacted to his thoughts.

Finally, after a few torturous seconds, the retching ceased and Nathan found himself gasping, his entire body shaking like a leaf. He convulsively swallowed, staring at his feet in an attempt to find some clarity in his messed-up world.

He wanted to stay at the hospital, to be there when he was told that he could see Peter. But everything: the sterile environment, the sickeningly white walls, everything was just too much for him.

Straightening weakly, Nathan pushed himself onwards, barging his way clumsily through a doorway as he began to clamber the stairs. The words kept on replaying over and over in his head: _"Peter may have been a victim of rape." _

_Rape… victim… Peter._

A sob tore itself from his throat, cracking and breaking as it made its escape. Nathan's knees buckled and he fell, gripping onto the railing by his side so as not to fall all the way. His chest heaved as he struggled to draw in enough air, his nails scrabbling and breaking as they dug into the metal rails.

"Peter," he whispered brokenly. He couldn't deal with this. Even attempting to comprehend the situation, to understand how Peter could have gone from naïve baby brother to traumatised victim in the space of one night was too much.

Because, after everything, Peter would be traumatised and, as always, Nathan would be expected to pick up the broken pieces of the aftermath.

Nathan shuddered as he inhaled a shaking breath, pressing his forehead against the cool wall. It wasn't that he wouldn't help Peter try to deal: he loved his brother enough to do anything and everything that was required of him. It was just, how could he be expected to give aid to his broken little brother, when he himself was having difficulty dealing with it all?

_I need time, _he reasoned, dragging himself tiredly to his feet. _I need to clear my head._

Despite the selfish feeling that niggled at the back of his mind, Nathan had to agree that it was the most sensible solution for now. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Peter lying bleeding and beaten in some ditch, gasping and struggling towards him.

The worst part of it all was that he knew the imagery couldn't have been that far from the truth.

Reaching the top of the stairwell, Nathan opened the door, stumbling through it and onto the open hospital roof. He could hear the sounds of the city beneath him, cars moving, sirens flashing in the distance, and made his way towards it.

Upon reaching the ledge, he didn't stop, instead clambering up onto it and standing looking down on the world that lay so far below. The lights were dazzling and as he blinked, they distorted: a film of sorrow masking his sight.

Nathan sighed, gazing around before staring up into the vast night sky, the breeze trickling past him, wanting to soothe his aching heart. It was futile, but appreciated.

He wondered if this was what Peter had felt like, the day he jumped.

There was an odd sense of serenity that he felt rest upon his shoulders as he stood there. Despite the constant noises beneath him, Nathan couldn't help but feel absent, free of all worries and problems. He felt separate from the world, almost non-existent.

Although he was wary of his powers, still labelling them as a nuisance in his already chaotic life, Nathan couldn't deny that something about flight just felt right. Unfortunately, the only times he had actually flown had been when people he loved had been in trouble, and so the feeling had never truly been savoured and enjoyed.

But he had found other reasons to be grateful for their abilities. His flight had enabled him to catch Peter when he would have undoubtedly died, and to get him out of the thunderstorm faster than he would have been able to on foot.

Also, he believed that Peter had managed to get to him by flight. He had no idea how he had managed to navigate his way to his house through the storm, but there was no denying the landing path Peter had left behind when reaching it.

Nathan found himself wincing when he realised that Peter must have hit the ground at an incredible speed to tear up the earth as he had, but without his ability to fly, Nathan had no doubt that his baby brother would be dead.

_And I wouldn't have known. _

It shook him to his core that there had been the strong possibility that Peter would have never reached him at all. Nathan could have been fast asleep without a clue that his brother was laid dying in somewhere in the backstreets of New York.

Forcing the memories and thoughts to the back of his mind, Nathan slowly closed his eyes, raising his arms wide in an exact imitation of what Peter had done before. His brother had felt some kind of elation upon jumping, a sense of release that Nathan needed to feel to retain the strength to keep going.

With a steady exhale, Nathan stepped forwards, forcing himself not to panic as his foot connected with nothing but air. He felt himself begin to fall and opened his eyes on reflex, watching in stunned mesmerisation as the sparkling lights below him seemed to grow as he fell to greet them.

Consciously, he stopped his arms from back peddling as he fell headfirst, executing a perfect dive towards the ground below. The wind raced past him, pinning back his hair and lifting his jacket behind him: his wings for flight fluttering contentedly behind him.

He blinked slowly, staring at the fast approaching pavement below. His stomach had butterflies as he tumbled, the weightlessness loosening the tight feeling that had formed in his chest.

It was only now that Nathan understood Peter's desire to fly – the freedom of being released from the pressure of life as you fell was relieving. He understood why suicidal people often chose to jump. If he was going to die, he'd want to go feeling this way: completely at peace with the world.

But he knew that when he returned to the hospital, to protect and guide his brother, this feeling would have to be extinguished.

Nathan wasn't a dreamer. He was a realist, a man with ambition and a desire to reach it through pure determination. He wasn't Peter. He couldn't live with the fantasy of being a hero and of trying to save the world.

He could fly, so what? He wasn't Superman.

But for tonight, he would take flight, just for Peter. He wanted to prove that he could still be there for his brother, still be _his _Superman through it all. He would do this because it was Peter required. He needed Nathan to be strong and clear-headed. If it took flying and using the annoyance that was his ability, then he would do it without a second thought.

Why? Because, in the end, he loved his brother: plain and simple.

Twisting in the air, body straightened like a well-strung arrow, Nathan shot forward. He was a speeding bullet, cutting through the dark streets of the city in search of his inner strength that he had somehow lost along the way.

But he would find it, and he would keep fighting.

After all, what else are big brothers for?

* * *

_Good? Bad? I wanted to repeat the bit from the Pilot where Peter jumps, but with Nathan, because I always found in the show that although Nathan represses his ability, he later (particularly in S3) comes to use it a lot __so I wanted to show that he always had the capacity to embrace it and love it. _

_Please review: it'll ease my nerves! lol. Thanks for reading!!! =]=]=]._

_Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;)_.


	6. Regaining Humanity

_Hey y'all =]=]=]._

_Whoa! Thanks for the amazing responses to this fic so far =]. It's really nice of you all, so thank you! =D._

_I'm going to apologise in advance: there may be a later update for the next chapter because 1) It's my birthday tomorrow and so the siblings are returning from Uni =] and 2) My mum will actually *slaughter* me if I try to type any more while the family get-together is afoot =/. So I do apologise!!! _

_This chapter sees all three of the Petrellis together once more - I love their family moments on the show! =P. Also, this is another hospital scene and as I said, I suck at them! So another apology for you all =/ lol. _

_I hope you all enjoy it and thanks for sticking with me so far!!!_

_

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_Playlist:-

Fountains Of Wayne - All Kinds Of Time

Foo Fighters - The Pretender

Snow Patrol - Open Your Eyes

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**Chapter Six: Regaining Humanity. **

The steady beep of the heart monitor was a reassurance, but it still unnerved her. The concept of needing to listen to Peter's heartbeats to be certain it was still beating was a frightening thought and she hoped that never again would she have to force herself to remember that her son was actually alive.

It was supposed to be a subconscious thought, to know that your children were safe and in good health.

Glancing at the darting green line, Angela heaved a heavy sigh. Her thumb was rubbing soothing circles along bruised skin, offering comfort to him through the struggles that he internally faced.

_Peter…_

He looked terrible. His skin had formed a sickly waxen complexion while dark crevices weaved themselves artistically amongst the pale shade. His appearance was so frighteningly corpse-like that Angela found herself listening to the heart monitor more and more, needing to be constantly assured that her son was still alive.

For a moment, she found herself wanting to cry, but her pride would not allow it. Peter was not dead, nor was he dying. She had no reason to grieve – she had to be the strong one in the family as she had consistently managed to be since Arthur's death.

With a tenderness that only a mother could give, Angela reached forward, brushing her son's long dark bangs back from his face. "Oh Peter," she sighed, continually stroking his hair soothingly. "Why is it always you?"

The question was said with a humourless smile, and had yet to bear an answer. She loved both her sons greatly, but between the two, she had always been able to connect more openly with her youngest. While Nathan was Arthur's golden boy, Peter would forever be hers.

Her suggestion of claiming that Peter had a mental illness was not intended to hurt him. She had reasoned with herself that it was much better than allowing Peter to run around telling everyone that he could fly. It was better that they lied and performed a necessary evil than allow the truth the ruin the youngest Petrelli's life and cause him to be institutionalised.

So much was resting upon Nathan's success at winning congress that she would do anything, _anything _that would enable him to go up in the polls. Her two boys were meant for great things: she had always known it.

Her thoughts drifted back to Nathan, his defensive expression as he left with an anger that was aimed solely at her. She had barely repressed a shudder as those cold hazels had swivelled to meet her own. Neither of her sons had ever been the cruel type, not even Nathan with all his selfishness in striving to be the best.

Sitting back in the hard hospital chair, linking one leg over the other, Angela took the time to simply study the man her youngest had become. It seemed as though it had been only yesterday that Peter had only come up to her knees, all smiles and laughter. His compassion had, if anything, only strengthened with time, but it was a rare thing to see him genuinely smile nowadays.

That, she reasoned, was a crime in itself. Peter's smile was contagious – even the tiniest quirk of his lips could have an entire room following swift suit.

"We need to have you smiling again Peter," Angela whispered, clasping his cold hand in one of her own. "When you wake up, I want to see you smile."

Remaining compliant and blissfully absent to her words, Peter slept on, his eyes moving rapidly behind tightly closed lids. Angela sniffed. She wanted to see what her son was witnessing, to help him through it all. She had had her own fair share of nightmares – she could sympathise with him and the horror that he must have been experiencing in his unconscious state.

With a heavy heart, nestling deeper into the seat, Angela kept a vigilant eye over Peter: the heart of their family. She knew that Nathan would return eventually. He was too protective of his brother to not come back for him and give him the love that he seemed to always desperately crave.

She had silently hoped earlier, when the doctor had delivered the results of the rape kit, that Nathan would stroll through the door in time to hear the verdict. _It would have put his mind at ease, _she thought sadly, reflecting on her own immense joy at hearing the word: "negative" falling past the middle-aged man's lips.

Her wonder at where he could be roaming the streets at such a late hour found itself morphing into concern. She had already had one son suffer the cruel violence of the city when in solitude – she couldn't bear for her other child to suffer the same fate.

Without realising it, Angela was now sitting poker-straight, her foot tapping nervously against the hospital floor while she tightly gripped Peter's hand. She wanted two things to happen this instant: for Peter to wake up and give her that heart-warming smile and for Nathan to return, a confident swagger in his previously weary steps.

As of yet, she had no idea which of her desires would be the most probable.

Knowing that she could do nothing about the latter, Angela found herself leaning over Peter, her eyes pleading at him to wake. She needed reassurance that at least one of her sons was okay. "Peter?"

He gave no answer, still lost to the world.

Bringing his limp hand to her mouth, she kissed it softly. "Peter, it's me." She gently rested the hand against her cheek, leaning into it to offer him comfort. "Please, sweetheart, I need you to wake up."

Even though she had been assured, after a barrage of urgent questions, that Peter was out of the critical stage and should remain that way if he was careful, Angela found herself praying that he would awaken. She remembered listening to the doctor as he informed her that his state of unconsciousness was merely from the sedative administered, and, as there were no signs of swelling, he would be capable of waking in his own time.

Yes, the words had eased the peculiar aching sensation in her chest. If she hadn't known any better, Angela would have said that it was her heart, but she had ripped it out after Arthur's death.

Emotions were weaknesses.

With this in mind, she calmed herself slightly, setting her face in a grim look as she continued to clutch her son's hand to her face. Peter had always been the exception to this rule. Empathy was his strength, and as such, Angela felt much more able to let go of her feelings when around him.

"If you hadn't been so stubborn and accepted my help before, this would never have happened."

The reprimand was harsh – Angela found herself actually almost flinching at the words.

"_It wouldn't hurt to edit yourself once in a while." _Peter had said that to her at the police station, when he had come to get her and look after her once Nathan had rushed away. She had felt a tinge of regret at seeing the sting of hurt lurking in his eyes, before she brushed it off with a brash comment.

Shaking her head, kissing his skin again, Angela stared down lovingly at her son: her _favourite. _"I'm sorry, Peter. I know I haven't been fair to you, for such a long time now." Leaning closer, as though whispering a hidden secret, she added, "And I am so proud of you. More than you will ever know."

Planting another kiss upon his brow, Angela pulled back, once again playing with his too-long hair. She hadn't noticed the figure that stood passively in the open doorway, simply watching them.

"I love you."

The shadowed man bowed his head, thin lips lifting minutely at the corners. Smiling: a task that had once been so easy had now become a chore. He had found, through an endless mirage of experiences, that in this world there really was little left to smile about.

A light tingle at the back of her neck had Angela turning in an instant to glance at the doorway. It was empty. She frowned, watching it for a moment longer, as though expecting something to appear, before she swivelled back to face Peter's pale form.

After a few moments of silence between cautious mother and compliant son, footsteps greeted them from the hallway: fast and yet even paced. Angela didn't even need to look to know who was approaching. Like Peter, she had become much accustomed to the congressman's brisk steps across a room.

"Nathan," she greeted before her eldest had even entered the room. Smoothing down the disarrayed blankets that had gathered about Peter's chest, the Petrelli woman straightened, abruptly pinning Nathan with a sincere look.

The expression faded for a moment as she took in Nathan's dishevelled appearance: ragged hair, crumpled jacket and a shirt corner that had managed to make a bid at escape from its tucked position. With the dried blood and dirt that had accumulated on him after his rescue attempt, he looked, to put it plainly, a mess.

Without sparing a glance at his mother, who he had no doubt was giving him the glare-of-the-century, Nathan stared in shock at his beaten little brother. He had thought that without all the blood and gore covering him, Peter might have looked in better condition.

He was wrong.

If anything, in the ironically heaven-like whiteness that shone from the room, Peter's injuries seemed worse. They stood out in stark contrast and Nathan couldn't help but count the various bruises and cuts that marred his brother's skin.

Resting against the doorframe, afraid to step any closer, the elder brother shook his head. "Oh God…"

"He's okay, Nathan," Angela answered the internal question automatically. Finally, the hazel eyes darted to her, glistening with unshed tears. "The doctors say that he should hopefully make a full recovery."

Sweet relief swept over him and Nathan nodded, returning his gaze to the figure lying motionless in the bed. Mouth dry, his head thumping softly against the frame, he ground out, "Hopefully?"

"They said the same as before. So long as he avoids strenuous activities and stress, there should be no complications." Angela had expected him to scoff as before – stress and the Petrellis went together like two connecting pieces of a puzzle.

Instead, Nathan merely gave another resigned nod, hardly wasting to energy to even blink. He wanted to ask something, but his mouth couldn't form the words. Inwardly cursing himself, he slumped further where he stood.

He needed to know if his brother had been a victim of… he cut the trail of thought off immediately. He couldn't even think about it, not willingly. It shouldn't have even been a possibility that Peter, innocent Peter, could have gone through that.

Squeezing his eyes shut to block out the taunting images that had been persistently attacking his mind, he struggled for his composure. _Hold it together, hold it together…_

With amounting difficulty, Nathan raised heavy lids to catch his mother's eyes. He noticed that they held an expectant look in them, wanting him to ask the question, to prove that he cared.

_I do._

"Did they…?" he began, his voice cracking brokenly as the words finally escaped him. Inhaling sharply, he tried again, "Did they get the results? Of the…"

He left it at that.

The 'r' word would never become a part of his vocabulary again after this, he was certain. Not after this…

"Negative."

Head snapping upwards violently, Nathan frowned, not quite sure he had heard correctly. After all, since when had God been so openly caring towards their family? "What?"

"The results came back negative," came the smooth, practically rehearsed reply. Angela watched as Nathan's broad shoulders slumped and he let out a noise that resided somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Encouraging his relief with a simple nod, she added bluntly, "He wasn't raped."

Nathan rubbed a hand over his face, wanting to weep with relief but still struggling to save face. Over the years he had managed to hone in his emotions well, a talent that had gained both of his parent's unwavering respect.

As though a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, Nathan stepped further into the room, almost gliding to his rightful place at Peter's side. Gripping the cold hand tightly, he sniffed, a shaky smile gracing his lips. "You're okay."

It was supposed to be spoken as a statement, but the lingering question made itself abundantly clear in the quiet of the room. Would Peter be okay? Would he get up and walk away from this without a single scar, mental or physical?

A hand rested comfortingly on his back and withholding a flinch, Nathan twisted to meet his mother's tender expression. He was taken back by the lack of animosity that had previously coveted her facial features. The anger he had felt towards her, about her suggestion to use Peter to make him go up in the polls was still there, but he pushed it deep down.

Peter was still her son, the same as he was Nathan's brother.

His words from earlier had not been the best chosen, and he regretted them. Angela was trying to help him with his ambition, but the price for doing so was too high. She had yet to find a balance in which she could appease both of her children.

Breathing deeply, holding her apologetic gaze, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

Tears shimmered in her eyes and Nathan turned, enveloping her in a firm hug before she could protest. He was surprised when she returned it just as firmly, long fingers curling in his jacket, crumpling it further. He often forgot that his mother was still in face human – she often hid her humanity from the world, afraid that it would make her appear weak and fragile.

With one hand still clutching his brother's like a lifeline, Nathan ran his other up and down Angela's back soothingly. He knew that she would never admit to needing to comfort, nor would she actually openly cry on his shoulder, but they both needed a little support right now, even if it was silent.

Angela was the first to pull away, blinking furiously to eradicate any trace of tears that remained in her eyes. Again, almost as if by habit, she reached up to his collar, flattening it into submission. She had once told him that it didn't hurt to be presentable, that people were always judged in how they appeared to other people at first glance.

Nathan had always taken that to heart. Peter hadn't.

The look Peter had always adopted was casually casual. Despite the riches that the Petrelli family bore, Peter refused it all, wanting to live his life in his own way and by his own making. It was admirable and foolish at the same time, but it was part of what made the younger brother who he was.

"I'm going to go and get a coffee," Angela spoke finally, breaking the enveloping quiet that had encased them. "Do you want anything?"

Nathan shook his head and watched as Angela gave him a tentative smile. Reaching up, she planted a loving kiss on his cheek before turning to walk away. The elder brother didn't miss the glance she sent back at Peter, one full of such warmth and loving, before she left.

The hand in his own still remained pliant and Nathan grabbed the nearest chair, pulling it as close to the bed as possible before sitting down. The heavy lidded eyes that continued to hide his brother's compassionate eyes were moving listlessly and Nathan found himself watching them closely.

With each second that ticked by as he studied Peter, Nathan found his eyes welling up. He knew that his brother would recover, that he hadn't been raped and was in no danger of relapsing. He should have been jumping for joy: after all, they had been so lucky.

But he couldn't…

At the end of it all, Peter had still been hurt. He had still been hanging, bleeding furiously in his arms. He had still convulsed before him, almost _died _right in front of him.

Brushing his thumb and index finer lightly over his eyelids, Nathan leant closer, feeling his lip begin to tremble. "Peter?" The younger man didn't even twitch at the sound of his voice. "God, Peter, you really scared me."

He inhaled shakily, feeling the wracking sobs begin to return. He had no more reason to save face. Here he was, alone in a room with the only man he had ever felt free enough to express himself openly with. Why should he hold back what he felt?

"When I saw you out of Simon's window… you were just laid there. You didn't even move when I fell into you," the elder Petrelli murmured gently, tightening his grip on Peter's hand. "I felt the same as I did when I saw you jump. I, I thought that was it, Pete."

A hand now rested over his mouth, elbow positioned squarely on the armrest, Nathan shook his head. "I know I don't say it enough, Pete, but I couldn't… if something happened to you…" his voice cracked harshly as he spoke the last words and he gasped, sobs breaking the surface.

A tear finally broke away, racing down his dirtied face and disappearing into neatly shaved stubble. Rising to his feet, hovering over Peter's form, the truly honest whisper left him: "I love you, Peter."

Unwittingly mimicking his mother's earlier actions, Nathan planted a kiss upon his brother's brow, leaving it to remain there was a constant reminder that he would be forever loved. Pulling back, roughly wiping the flowing tears from his face, the elder brother gave Peter's hand a squeeze of encouragement.

As he began to move away, to take a few moments to compose himself, Nathan was stopped in his tracks. Hazel, still teary eyes widened as he felt the thick fingers wrap around his skin and squeeze.

Peter had squeezed his hand.

Instantly leaning back over his brother, hardly daring to breathe in hopeful anticipation, Nathan studied the pale creasing brow before him. "Peter?"

With an agonising sluggishness, dilated pupils came into view, hazel irises shining brightly in the room's light. Dark lashes blinked hesitantly, contrasting against the whitened skin before they opened once more. Peter's gaze rolled for a moment, seeing but unaware of what he was trying to take in.

"Peter?" Nathan tried again, cupping the youngest Petrelli's cheek, attempting to make him focus, "Peter, you with me?"

The blank stare swivelled, resting directly on the elder brother's hunched form. Peter's frown increased further and a pit of dread formed in Nathan's stomach. _What if he doesn't recognise me? What if there's more damage than they thought?_

"Peter?!"

Absently, Peter stared at him. Then, the glaze over his eyes steadily began to lift, as though pulling back the curtains to reveal the waking world for the first time. Something sparked deep within them and Nathan waited for a sign that his little brother was still in there somewhere.

It came in the form of a tired smile.

"Nathan."

* * *

_An extra cookie goes to anyone who guesses the identity of the mysterious visitor =] hehehe._

_Thanks for reading and please review to let me know if you're still enjoying it!!! =D. _

_Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;)._


	7. A Helping Hand

_Hey y'all :):):)._

_I'm sorry for the lateness - college is getting busy with exams coming up in January so *phew!*, I finally got updated! lol._

_I realised when I started writing it that the only was to get the scene to work in the way I wanted it to, was to - yep, you guessed it! - write another hospital scene! =P. _

_Anyways, I hope you like it and thanks for all the wonderful support I've had so far!!! =D._

_Enjoy!_

_

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_

Playlist:-

The Fray - Over My Head (Cable Car)

Fountains Of Wayne - All Kinds Of Time

Coldplay - Warning Sign

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**Chapter Seven: A Helping Hand.**

_3 days later…_

He'd been staring at his bare feet for the better half of a minute, relishing that he could actually move the cold toes before him. It really was a blessing – had he been the victim of one unfortunately misplaced kick, this moment, staring at his feet, would have had a much more different feel to it.

Sighing deeply, Peter swung his feet back and forth slowly, rating the pain as ach swing became slightly more vigorous. He had attested quite openly to the fact that broken ribs limited practically everything that you could do: moving, breathing, even talking a fraction louder than a murmur.

Lifting one hand shakily from where they rested in his lap, Peter grabbed the plain white t-shirt that rested neatly beside him. He tugged it to him, quickly unfolding and holding it before him with an arched eyebrow.

_Now what?_

It was embarrassing to say the least. He was 26-years-old, a qualified nurse with his own apartment and own life, but here he was, facing the arduous task of pulling on a shirt. He scoffed, stretching the material out and slowly beginning to lift his arms above his head.

It wasn't that Nathan and his mother hadn't offered to give him assistance. Peter was not, as everybody knew, a true Petrelli, but he had still inherited a Petrelli's pride. He didn't want to be seen as weak in anyone's eyes.

But more so than that, he didn't want to be seen as weak in his brother's.

Puffing out pained breaths of air, Peter tugged the t-shirt over his head, cursing as it caught on his ears. As he wrenched it down a fraction further, searing agony erupted down his side and he whimpered, abandoning all further attempts. Doubling over, the youngest Petrelli, gasped, squeezing his eyes closed as he waited for the pain to pass as it always did.

"You need some help with that?"

Peter titled his head slightly, squinting through the thin white shirt to glimpse the tall silhouette of Nathan standing ahead of him. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, biting back a wince. _I really should stop moving…_

Managing a gentle smile, despite the fact that Peter was unable to see it, Nathan stepped into the room. "Please, let me help you. You're looking a bit…"

"Stupid?" the tangled man supplied bitterly, giving up and allowing his arms to drop uselessly by his sides. Well, so much for his planto not seemtotally useless before Nathan.

"Dysfunctional."

Upon reaching Peter, the elder brother studied his bowed posture, shoulders slumped heavily. He was trying to analyse which was the cause: pain or defeat.

To him, it looked like both.

The man looked so dejected sitting there and it would take someone with an absolute lack of heart to not look at him and feel bad. Sympathy clouding his judgement, and before even stopping to think, Nathan placed a warm hand on Peter's shoulder.

The effect was instantaneous.

Peter jerked back in surprise at the touch, wrenching away and almost toppling over the opposite side of the bed. Pain flared again, but he ignored it, intent on getting away from the touch, _touching… _He scrabbled for the shirt, tugging it fervently past his eyes to identify the culprit of his panic.

Nathan stood in utter shock, one hand still raised as a sign of support. As the terrified hazel eyes came into view, he began inwardly berating himself for being so stupid. They had been told that he might be sensitive to anything like touch: that he was to be treated delicately.

Shaking his head, the congressmen raised his hands apologetically, "Pete, God, I'm sorry."

Upon realising how had grabbed him, Peter relaxed marginally, his inhales still wheezing as his broken ribs moved uncomfortably under his skin. With a small nod, he proceeded to lower his head, long bangs falling over his eyes as he struggled to control his breathing.

He felt so pathetic. He should be stronger than this – one single touch shouldn't have reduced him to this trembling wreck?

Nathan wouldn't ever hurt him, he knew this. In fact, Nathan had been the one to save him, to get him help when he needed it. Peter had even managed to fly to him, putting his entire faith, and even his life, dutifully in his hands.

And Nathan hadn't failed him, not once.

Stretching out the leg that had somehow managed to find itself beneath him, Peter winced as it pulled the stitches in the back of his thigh. He had been told he was lucky, in all senses of the word. The knife wound hadn't been too deep, the punctured lung had been easily fixed, the concussion was only mild and he had managed to escape before he was…

A shudder struck him. He _knew_ that he had been lucky – much luckier than others had been in the past. But still, he couldn't help but feel increasingly hurt and betrayed.

Peter had put his trust in the world and the 'kindness of strangers'. And now, he felt that there was little left that he found could be trusted anymore.

"Pete?" asked the low voice, kind and patient as always.

_Except for Nathan, _the younger brother found himself thinking fondly, raising his head to see Nathan hovering worriedly before him. Plastering on an all-too fake smile, Peter gave another nearly imperceptible nod. "I'm okay. You just caught me by surprise, that's all."

Accepting the words, not believing them but still accepting nonetheless, Nathan rubbed a hand across his jaw as he watched Peter begin to tug at the hem of his shirt. He caught the grimace his baby brother gave at the struggle that was well hidden by a stifled cough.

"Peter," he began, watching as the imploring eyes blinked up at him. "Let me help, okay?"

Sharing a long look with his brother, Peter finally relented, lowering his arms with a sigh. The ache in his chest and increased harshly after each movement, soreness creeping into every wearied pore. Dropping his gaze, a shame-filled tinge creeping into his cheeks, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Nathan stepped closer, bending down to his level.

Tentatively, Nathan reached forwards, looping his fingers underneath the shirt. His fingers brushed lightly against Peter's skin and the younger man flinched visibly. "Sorry, Peter. I'm just gonna pull your shirt down now, alright?"

Another tentative nod followed, the 26-year-old abruptly morphing into a scared young child again. Encouragingly, Nathan began to pull the shirt down over his brother's body. He tried not to look at the violently dark bruises that marred the pale skin, crisscrossing in different shades like a patchwork quilt.

_If I ever find out who did this…_

He left the thought hanging threateningly, trying to keep the enraged scowl off of his expression. Glancing at the painfully jutting out ribs and the inward curve of Peter's stomach, Nathan found himself close to retching at the sorry state the younger man was in.

The worst part of it all was that not all of the neglect had been from the attack. How long had Nathan watched Peter's weight decline and not done anything about it?

_Too long, _he realised sadly, pulling the material towards Peter's harshly bruised hips. _But I'll make it all up to you Peter. I promise. _

Accidentally, Nathan's fingers once again lost purchase and Peter tensed as his brother brushed against the faint fingerprint bruises that had been left behind. A reminder of what had almost been his fate…

Instantly, he found himself struggling with images of that fateful night. He remembered the heart wrenching fear as he found himself surrounded, the terror as he found himself trapped. Peter could still picture the lust-filled look in the bald man's eyes as he studied him, before he had finally made a bid at freedom.

Then he had fallen, a knife embedded deep within his thigh. Each blow that followed came stronger than its predecessor. It was as though they were never going to stop. Blood stained his lips, dripping from his mouth. He couldn't breathe. Everything was compressing down on him, horror encompassing his mind as the truth of his predicament hit him full force.

Stark clarity…

Peter gasped. The taunting feeling returned: he knew what was going to happen, but was powerless to stop it. He remembered the cold fingertips against his sore skin, the coarse material of his jeans catching on ripped and abused flesh.

_Help me…_

"Peter!"

Blinking rapidly, Peter lifted his head up, colliding violently with his brother's hovering chin. Nathan grunted, stumbling away as his younger brother tried to return to himself, looking utterly lost and bewildered from where he sat on the cold hospital floor.

Frowning, feeling the cold seep through his jeans, Peter took in the tiles. _One, two, three, _he began counting internally, touching one to ensure that it was in fact real. He didn't want to be trapped in that nightmare again.

Exhaling in relief upon finding himself rooted in reality, the young nurse glanced upwards, meeting Nathan's stunned look. Nathan was still clutching his chin tightly, panting harshly from where he stood next to the wall, clearly shaken.

"Nathan, I…" Peter began, before breaking off in uncertainty. He wasn't exactly sure what had happened: one second he was on the bed, the next, he was head butting his brother on the floor. Tenderly, Peter rubbed the sore spot on the top of his skull, the dull pain finally registering, "Ouch."

"Yeah: ouch."

The statement sounded bitter, but it was only to mask his concern. Nathan didn't understand. Peter was fine and then suddenly, he had just gone completely blank. It had honestly scared him, to watch his brother topple off the bed and onto the floor, to stare back at him with empty eyes as he was pulled back into the dark recesses of his mind.

Releasing his jaw, rolling it a couple of times, Nathan took steady steps back to his brother's side. "Peter? You back with me now?"

The dark mop of hair shifted as he answered silently. His hand fell from its resting place atop his head, slapping lightly against his knee before resting there. A sigh fell past his lips and Nathan lowered himself steadily into a crouch, falling to eye-level with his aversive little brother.

"Hey," he whispered softly with a smile. With two gentle fingers, he brushed the bangs back from Peter's face, being careful not to actually touch his skin. A pair of deep orbs met his instantly, the fear reflected within them causing Nathan to lose his composure for a moment.

Breathing shakily, Peter managed a weak apology, "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," replied the lawyer swiftly, focussing on the strands of hair as he tucked them neatly behind Peter's ear. As though dealing with a delicate child, Nathan placed his hands, feather-light, upon the smaller Petrelli's skinny shoulders, relief spreading through him as Peter managed to withhold a wince at the touch.

Leaning in closer, a proximity that the brothers had become acquainted with over their years together, Nathan stared him down with intensity. He wanted his words to be taken seriously, to be understood and accepted openly.

"None of it is."

The corner of Peter's mouth quirked upwards slightly as the sentence hesitantly registered. He watched with a wary gaze as Nathan pressed their foreheads together in their own personal gesture of affection. Exhaling slowly, allowing himself to relax into the touch, he closed his eyes, reminding himself that it was his hero who was with him now.

_Nathan won't hurt me._

Concerned hazel eyes blinked, studying Peter sat ahead of him, desperately struggling to control his warring emotions. Nathan was conflicted. He wanted Peter out of this place as soon as possible – everything about it had just brought grief and haunting memories that he knew he would carry forever.

_What if he isn't ready? _The elder brother reasoned, already witness to two of Peter's freak outs within mere seconds of each other. He felt nauseous even considering having Peter committed or, at least, counselled to help him deal with what had happened. But, if this was what was needed to make his brother well again, then he would do it in a heartbeat.

The doctors had already explained to them about both the physical and mental aspects of Peter's recovery. Physical, they could deal with. Mental wasn't so easily accomplished. They'd been warned about certain symptoms that could indicate a decline in Peter's mental health, and Nathan was saddened to realise that he had already noted at least three of them.

Afraid of touch – it would include the distancing of intimacy and perhaps even any social behaviour.

Tremors – unexplained shaking that could be a result of post-traumatic stress disorder. If the tremors become too violent, as well as damaging his ribs further, it could also send him into shock.

Flashbacks – moments in which something might remind him of the past event which then, makes him relive it again. Signs include: spacing out, inability to communicate and sometimes even loss of consciousness.

_I've watched them all happen today, _Nathan realised darkly, reaching up to comb his fingers lightly through his brother's dark hair once more. _What if it gets worse? What if he ends up being scared of me?_

The thought filled him with dread. Peter had always been a sensitive and yet empathic person. Nathan couldn't imagine him not being able to open up to anyone, but more so, if he couldn't accept Nathan as a close person in his life…

Shuddering, the elder brother pressed his head harder against Peter's. It would be his worst nightmare.

As the hold increased, Peter began tugging weakly against Nathan's grip as it began making him uncomfortable. Thankfully, Nathan got the message, releasing him and sitting back with a caring expression on his face. They sat in silence for a moment longer, sharing the secret brotherly look between them: one that communicated so much more than words could ever dream to.

With a slap on his thighs, Nathan rose to his feet. "You ready to get out of here?"

He stretched out a hand, his eyes following Peter's as they stared at it in suspicion. Keeping the plastered-on smile firmly in place, Nathan waited patiently. He'd made the first move. He could only hope that Peter could follow suit and play the game that he needed to play.

Hazel eyes darted uncertainly between the hand and the one who offered it, until finally Peter reached out. His hand slipped slowly into Nathan's, his brother tightening the grip instantly. Within moments, he was on his feet, wavering for a moment before regaining his balance.

"Thanks," murmured the younger brother, letting his hand drop dutifully back to his side.

Giving a curt nod, Nathan turned to the door, pushing it open. He jerked his head towards it and Peter took the hint, limping towards it with an awkward expression on his face. It took Nathan every ounce of restraint he had not to go over and help, but he knew that Peter needed this.

He needed some form of his old independence back.

Halfway through the threshold, a hand pressed to his ribs as they ached and strained beneath his sore skin, Peter stopped. He stared at the open door for a moment, as though wondering why it was open. After all, would he ever recover from all this?

Uncertainly, he glanced up at his big brother: his pillar of strength and constant support. Clearing his throat, he asked quietly, "Where are we going?"

A broad smile found its way onto Nathan's lips at the question.

"Home."

* * *

_The chapter was originally gonna be called "Home is where the heart is", then I realised it's too long and it is way too incredibly cheesy! =P._

_Thanks for reviewing so far and please leave me some more to let me know what you think!!! =]=]=]._

_Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;).  
_


	8. Stumble And Fall

_Hey y'all :):):)._

_8 chapters... phew! It was only originally about to be about 3 or 4 lol =P. _

_Now, as for Peter's developing issues as he tries to deal with what happened to him, suggestions are always open! I tried to wing it a little with this chapter, so I hpe it worked 'cos I was a little stumped with how to proceed =/._

_Thanks for being so patient and for taking the time to read and comment on this story!!! =D._

_Please enjoy!!!_

_

* * *

_Playlist:-

Thriving Ivory - Flowers For A Ghost

Hana Pestle - Need

Snow Patrol - Chasing Cars

* * *

**Chapter 8****: Stumble And Fall.**

The door slammed open with force, smacking hard against the nearest wall. Peter flinched, glancing to Nathan as he proceeded with total nonchalance, either oblivious or just ignorant to their overly dramatic entrance.

"Home, sweet home," he announced with a grin, turning to the timid Peter who stood perched in the doorway. He watched his brother's eyes raise, studying the hallway curiously for a moment before landing on him. "You can come in you know."

A light blush crept into his pale cheeks and Peter hastily entered, stepping aside to let Nathan close the door. Again, he found his gaze drawn to the magnitude of his brother's house, second only to the Petrelli mansion. It had been some time since the youngest Petrelli had found himself here, having cut off almost all ties to their family roots when he became a nurse.

Catching Nathan glancing at him with concern, he nodded, clearing his throat. "It's nice," he spoke quietly, as though answering some unasked question. "It's been a while since I've been here."

"Yeah, I know."

Despite wanting to wrap his arm comfortingly around his brother's shoulder, Nathan walked on further into his house, reminding himself that touch was the last thing Peter needed right now. He heard the soft patter of footsteps behind him, labouring as Peter stopped occasionally to glance at some random paintings that littered the walls.

"I don't know about you," Nathan talked back to Peter as he entered the dining room, "but I'm starving. Fancy something, Pete?"

The elder brother rested one hand on a chair, leaning on it lightly as he stared down his brother. It had been his own personal mission to make Peter gain weight while he stayed with him and there was little that he couldn't actually achieve once he set his mind on it.

It was easy to identify that the question was a test. Peter had overheard Nathan and his doctor talking about his dangerously underweight status and knew that Nathan would, come hell or high water, make him eat.

The thought of food, however, made Peter's stomach roll uncomfortably and he clasped an arm over it in an attempt to calm it. His bouts of nausea were hard enough to control without eating anything - he couldn't imagine how difficult it could become with a full stomach.

Managing a gentle shrug, berating himself as it sent a stab of pain through his chest, he wheezed out, "I'm okay thanks."

Nathan sighed, his fingers curling over the top of the chair. "Peter, you need to eat."

"I know that, I just don't feel like it right now." The two shared a look, Nathan's critical gaze causing Peter to feel increasingly uncomfortable. Looking away, staring timidly at his feet, Peter asked, "Where are Heidi and the kids?"

"At her mother's," supplied the elder man, still studying Peter's face and frowning at his aversive behaviour. "I thought it would be best to give you some space for a while."

And, although he knew Nathan's intentions were all honourable, Peter couldn't help but feel a twinge of hurt at the words. He felt like a plague – forcing his sister-in-law and his nephews to move out of their home, making his brother stay with him and play babysitter…

_I always seem to get in the way._

"Oh," he finally managed, scuffing his shoes against the floor. Why did he always have to be the burden? He'd tried so hard to break away, to stop being the useless link in the family: the one that everyone expected to fail. "Can I go?"

The question sounded pitiful to even his own ears and Peter inwardly winced, refusing to look up.

"What?" Nathan frowned, straightening slightly.

"Can I go… upstairs?" Peter asked shyly, glancing up to meet his brother's surprised stare. He knew he must sound ridiculous, asking permission like a scalded child to be excused from the room. He sighed, lowering his head once more in a defeatist manner.

Recovering from the shock, Nathan worked his jaw for a moment before forcing out the one word, "Yeah." He watched as Peter gave a gentle nod before turning and limping away, vanishing from his sight.

He found himself slumping, gripping on tighter to the chair. A sigh, almost close to a groan of exasperation fell from his lips and he lowered his head further. He wasn't sure what to make of what had just happened. Peter had refused food, which, although he expected, still worried him to unimaginable levels.

_And he asked me if he could go to his room, _he realised, brow creasing in thought before he murmured. "He's never asked me that before."

Although Peter had even openly admitted to looking up to Nathan throughout his life, he had never once chosen to treat him like a father figure, claiming that big brothers were always cooler anyway. He had never even asked their actual father if he could be excused or if he could go to room, always in an act of outright defiance.

Brushing a hand over weary eyes, Nathan bowed his head completely between his shoulders. He knew that he shouldn't be worried: being polite should have actually been considered an improvement. But Peter, despite being shy and empathic with everyone he met, had never been so tentative and scared before.

Hesitantly, Nathan glanced up to the empty doorway where his brother had stood. He had been told to watch out for any changes, even ones that could be considered small and irrelevant. He had been told again and again that that was how it began – the decline into mental instability.

"Damn it."

* * *

The journey up the long winding stairs was tiresome, Peter realised as he counted the ninth step up. A twinge of pain erupted in his ribs and he winced, clutching them gently and leaning against the banister for a moment of reprieve.

Breathing hurt, he noticed, blinking up towards the top of the stairs that seemed so far away as of this moment. Peter lowered his head again, wanting to kick the nearest step but restraining himself: who only knew how much more discomfort that one little action would cause him.

A quietened grunt rumbled in his throat as he lifted his leg once more, hands clutching strongly at the thin fabric of his shirt. He felt a bead of sweat form on his brow, trickling stealthily behind his drooping hair.

God, he was pathetic.

Stopping again, pivoting minutely to see how far he'd come, Peter let out a bitter laugh. He'd made it half way up a flight of stairs and he already felt like he was about to pass out. Wavering with a bout of dizziness, he gripped the railing tighter, squeezing his eyes closed against the sense of vertigo.

His knuckles turned white as the grip he held on the banister, afraid that if he loosened it by even the tiniest amount, he would fall. He remembered falling, the white hot pain that had hit him before he sunk into darkness, waking up to see the world flying towards him at terrifying speeds…

Peter gasped, bending at the middle as he tried to control his ragged breathing. His whole frame shook with tremors, the memories of that fateful night igniting the same reactions in him that he had felt when it occurred.

Opening saddened hazels, Peter tilted his head to glance back at the stairs, forcing himself to take another step. He lifted his leg with astounding effort, concentrating every ounce of his being on making it rise. The limb shuddered in its levitated position, his body too weak to maintain his own weight for a prolonged amount of time.

He had almost made it when scorching fire ripped through his opposite thigh, forcing his knees to buckle. His eyes widened, mouth agape in utter surprise as he began to fall, the slackening grasp on the banister instantly diminished as he lost all balance.

Arms back peddling, Peter could do nothing to prevent his descent. The feeling of weightlessness clutched at him and he found himself drawn back to that night.

"_Peter!"_

The sound of his name dragged him back. Blinking, intense irises appeared, pupils shrinking rapidly as he took in the ascending sky as he cut harshly through it, with no intent of stopping. With tremendous effort, gnashing his teeth and groaning in agony, he dragged himself up falling chest-first to the ground below.

He tried to focus, vision blurring as consciousness chose to flee him. His worn body protested as he bent his knee, the knife wound on his opposite leg burning with each movement. Desperation clouding his mind, Peter kicked out, jerking forwards violently to avoid the imminent collision that gravity had brought upon on him.

"Peter!"

Peter blinked again, struggling and writhing as the world around him changing, darkness turning to light. He cried out as pain crushed down on him and he felt something hold him down, mumbled noises echoing distortedly in his ears.

Convulsing in the grip that restrained him, Peter cried out, disorientated. His eyes darted around, catching a glimpse of a looming shadow above him which made his heart leap in fear. Struggling to return from his flashback, he pulled away, mind yearning to be brought back into reality.

The younger Petrelli drew in a rasping breath, coughing violently as he strained, "Help!"

The plea was weak, his injuries worsening with each struggle. He needed help. Where was everyone?! _Nathan, please, help me…_

"Please Peter, stop!"

The voice filtered and Peter froze, recognising it instantly. His gaze ceased wandering and heavily, he set it on the silhouette that hovered above him. He blinked, focus returning as his big brother's worried features came into view.

Sighing in relief, head lolling back against what he supposed to be Nathan's strong arm, Peter felt the warm tears begin to creep from the corners of his eyes.

"N-Nathan," he whispered, closing his eyes in gratitude. _Thank you, thank you… _He had felt so alone, abandoned even as no-one heard his desperate cry. But then, Nathan had answered him, replied to his call of help and pulled him back from the brink as he always managed to.

The elder brother was in shock, cradling his limp brother comfortingly in his arms. He had been about to go and confront Peter, to plead with him first and then order him to eat something, when he had seen Peter fall. He had screamed, feet literally leaving the floor and propelling him up the winding stairwell in an instant.

He had caught his brother's impossibly light body, shaking him gently as he was met with nothing but a blank stare. It had terrified him when Peter hadn't replied, but it had scared him even more after he had.

There was no recognition in Peter's eyes. He had simply panicked, seizing in his arms and trying to escape with every fibre of being he had. Nathan's attempts to soothe him had seemed futile, his hands struggling to control the thin flailing limbs beneath him.

A whispery breath left him and Nathan tugged Peter closer, resting his chin lightly atop the dark mop of hair. As of yet, he didn't care if touch might make Peter uncomfortable: after what they had both just experienced, they deserved a little affection right now.

And, as Nathan hugged his charge closer to him, he couldn't help but wonder if this was how Peter had reacted when it had happened. Had he been able to fight with this much vigour before, or was he too badly wounded to do much of anything?

"Peter, you're okay," he murmured, carding his fingers through Peter's hair. "Don't worry, I'm just gonna carry you, alright?"

The heavy head shook weakly. "No. I c-can do it."

"Pete, I _am_ gonna carry you. I'm not going to watch you fall again, you understand me?"

Wet eyelashes fluttering, Peter stared at his brother's neck, reminding himself that the only hands resting on him right now were Nathan's. He wanted to protest at being treated as fragile. It didn't just sting his pride, but he knew that if he couldn't even help himself, how would he ever be able to help other people?

But, the persistent throbbing throughout his slim figure remained tauntingly, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to attempt the stairs again.

With an air of reluctance, Peter nodded, his body instantly becoming airborne. His fingers scrabbled, curling in the front of Nathan's shirt as he felt the floor vanish beneath him. The soothing reassurances from above his head, however, calmed him and he relaxed, resting his scab-covered cheek protectively over Nathan's heart.

Swiftly, Nathan reached the top of the stairs, hushing Peter when, every few moments, he started to move, struggling against his grip. His feet thumped loudly against the carpet as he tried not to jostle his frail brother, feeling Peter's fingernails scratching against his skin through his shirt as he fought for purchase.

"It's alright, Pete," he muttered over and over, somehow managing to balance Peter in with one arm while opening the door with the other. It was an upsetting testament to the younger brother's dramatically declining weight.

Sniffing, hating the pitiful demeanour of his situation, Peter nodded against Nathan's chest. "I know."

With incredible ease, Nathan knelt on the side of the bed, feeling it dip down at the added weight of the two brothers. He lowered Peter onto the mattress as though he was made of glass, truthfully terrified that a single wrong move would cause the younger man to shatter.

As soon as his back touched the bed, Peter winced, past bruises now aggravated from his episode coming to fruition. Nathan stopped moving, hanging awkwardly above him to try and spare him any further pain.

Peter shook his head, "I'm okay," he met his brother's eyes with sincerity, trying to hide the urges to sob in his expression. "It doesn't hurt."

"You sure?"

The smaller man nodded his assertion and Nathan, with a cautious gait, lowered him the rest of the way. The pillow encased his pounding head and Peter sank gratefully into it, releasing his hold on Nathan's shirt and allowing his arms to flop uselessly to his sides.

The bed shifted again as Nathan sat beside him, sighing tiredly. Peter flinched, staring at his brother with regret-filled eyes. He had never seen Nathan look so defeated before – worn down to the bone.

The congressman glanced up, noting the look that lingered in Peter's eyes, "No don't think like that." He shifted, facing Peter fully and giving him a small smile. "As I said before, none of this is your fault."

"Sure doesn't feel that way."

The mumbled words were barely discernable as Peter turned his head away to glance out of the window. Nathan saw the light shimmer in his eyes, his aversive posture clearly trying to bide himself time before he could release his pent-up emotions in solitude.

With obvious movements, allowing Peter to clearly see out of the corner of his eye that Nathan was placing his hand on his shoulder, the elder brother shook his head in disagreement. "How is it your fault, Pete?"

"I…" he broke off, aware of the warm weight on his shoulder, constantly reminding himself that it was just Nathan. Inhaling shakily, he shifted in the bed, still glancing mournfully out towards the clear skies. _Falling… no one to catch you… _

He brushed off the feelings, rooting himself back to reality with the stinging hurts of his wounds and the steady breathing of Nathan to his side. "I should have done something. Been faster or stronger…"

"I think you did a pretty good job of that already, Peter," Nathan replied honestly, studying the hazel orbs as the swivelled to pin him with a puzzled look. Raising an eyebrow, he merely added, "You got away didn't you?"

The question was rhetorical and yet Peter felt compelled to answer it. Somehow, beyond all odds, he had managed to escape the group of men. One second they had been converging on him and the next, they weren't.

He couldn't help but feel that something big had played a part in his escape, but as for what, he couldn't quite place his finger on it…

"Yes."

"Not many people could've done that, Peter," Nathan continued in his familiar hushed tones and Peter found his brow creasing as a new expression crept across his brother's face. It took him a moment to analyse it, and when he did, he found his jaw slackening in mild surprise.

_Pride… _his brother was proud of him for managing to get away.

Nathan patted Peter's leg softly with his other hand before rising to his feet. "You look like you need sleep, so I'll just…" he gestured towards the door, trying not to say the word 'go'. In Peter's sacred condition, he didn't want his brother to think that he would be abandoning him anytime soon.

Replying with a slight incline of his head, Nathan smiled, leaning forward as though to pant a kiss on Peter's forehead. He thought better of it, seeing Peter's subconscious flinch at his unpredictable movement. Instead, he settled for another smile of encouragement before he turned and left, purposely leaving the door wide open.

Just in case.

With a long exhale, Peter buried himself deeper into the mattress, the pillows sides enveloping him warmly. He stared tiredly at the ceiling, replaying what had happened in his head. He knew it was a flashback: that much was blatantly obvious, but what had triggered it?

_Falling…_

He found himself shuddering as he remembered the weightlessness, the inevitable fall back to earth with barely enough strength or will to try and prevent it.

_How long will these things keep on happening? _He asked himself, closing his eyes to alleviate the growing migraine in his head. _Are they going to keep getting worse? Will I even wake up from the next one?_

A shiver ran through his body as a shadow fell over him, blocking the sun's rays from the window. He tensed on instinct, realising suddenly that he hadn't heard Nathan's footsteps re-entering the room. For a few seconds more, he kept his eyes tightly closed, lacking the bravery to open them straight away.

His heart was palpitating in his chest, pressure against his broken ribs beginning to become unbearable. Peter knew that he had to look soon or run the risk of dying from his own erratic fear.

Biting on his lip, fists clenching by his sides, his eyelids slithered back, eyes instantly identifying the intruder. The youngest Petrelli gasped, finding the strength in his stunned apprehension to raise himself up on one arm, grimacing all the while.

His lips parted, head shaking in disbelief from side to side. "What? H-How is this possible?"

Across from Peter, leaning against the window pane with a pure look of nonchalance on his face, stood himself. The other man's eyes seemed slightly darker, long hair slicked back to reveal a violent scar slashing diagonally between them.

He pushed himself upright, unfolding his arms and tilting his head to regard him a little more seriously. A long trench coat fluttered about his calves as he stepped closer, Peter instantly shrinking back to maintain the distance between them.

Huffing lightly, whether in amusement of irritation was uncertain, the older Peter stopped at a respectful few feet away. "Peter," he greeted, almost snorting at the stunned expression his past counterpart wore.

Then, as though by routine, his face fell back into its typical sombre structure.

"I believe you have some questions for me."

* * *

_Future!Peter!!! hehehehe. I told you, I actually have an obsession ('specially since it seems unlikely that he will ever make another appearance in the show again *sigh*)._

_I hope you liked it!!! Please give me any ideas and review to let me know what you thought of it! =]=]=]._

_Thanks for reading =D._

_Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;).  
_


	9. Fateful Reflection

_Hey y'all :):):)._

_Thank you for all of your support for this story so far! It seriously makes it worth taking the time to write it =D.  
_

_Yes, this is an earlier update, but from what I've been hearing (plus from the one clip I've managed to see) of the last Heroes episode, everyone's in need of something to take their mind off what happened =/. And yep, since I saw the final brotherly scene, I will openly admit that I cried my eyes out -sniff sniff-._

_Anyway, I managed to get this done a little quicker because I thought it might possibly cheer some of you up a little =]=]=]. Also, at the end, I just had to add in a little something to maintain the brotherly relationship of the Petrellis - I'm hopefully going for an aww-moment, so let me know if it works lol ;)._

_There is no Nathan in the chapter, but instead, there is future Peter. I'm very iffy about if I wrote him correctly... if anyone had tried writing him before, you have my sympathies =P. He's a tricky one, that's for sure hehehe. _

_So, please enjoy!!! =]=]=]._

_(By the way, I know the chapter title sucks - I was completely out of ideas lol.)  
_

_

* * *

_Playlist:-

AFI - Prelude 12/21

Deftones - My Own Summer (Shove It)

Sick Puppies - My World

Thriving Ivory - Angels On The Moon

* * *

**Chapter 9 - Fateful Reflection.**

Had Nathan chosen to walk back into Peter's room at that very moment, he would have thought he was hallucinating. The two Peter Petrellis stared each other down: one confused and scared while the other remained disturbingly blank and sincere.

They were mirror images: opposites despite being the same. Two realities comparing what had been and what would one day come to pass.

"W-Who are you?" the younger Peter finally demanded, sitting upright with a protective arm wrapped around his chest. He barely dared to blink, afraid that if he did this mirage, this _impossibility_, would vanish. He needed to know what was going on.

_Am I going crazy?_

"No," he jumped at the bitter voice, gazing at the scarred man in trepidation. The other Peter met his gaze unflinchingly, standing tall over his hunched figure on the bed. "You're not."

Peter gaped as the slim figure began to circle him, stepping around the bed and studying the room with an indiscernible expression on his face. He moved like a shadow, his attire completely black, trying to blend him into the darkness that seeped through the world. _What? How did he know what I was thinking? _

A huff came from his right and he frowned. "What?"

"You think very loudly, anyone ever tell you that?"

The future Peter smirked at his younger self's confounded expression. He strolled casually over to the nearest set of drawers, tenderly reaching forth and plucking a photo frame from it. He remembered the picture well. His big brother and himself at Nathan's wedding, smiling contentedly for the picture – happy to be together.

A saddened weight fell upon his shoulders, bowing them tiredly. _Those times have come and gone. _Subconsciously, his thumb gently brushed over Nathan's smiling face before he set the picture down again, simply staring at it for a moment longer.

"Is that your power?" the dark eyes swivelled, glancing at the pale and bruised man briefly. "You can read minds?"

Without replying, the future Peter moved again, walking briskly to the opposite wall and leant lightly back against it. He looped one arm over the other again, appraising the young Petrelli before him. He took in the bruises and scabs adorning his face before trailing down to his torso, understanding the nature of the wounds that befell him there as well.

Swallowing at the look the other man was giving him, Peter found his resolve. Struggling to appear strong and fearless when his body was screaming in protest for the sleep that he desperately craved, he straightened. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"The first question you already know the answer to," replied the colder Peter brashly, dark eyes flicking around the familiar room in interest. Nothing much had changed over the years, and yet, somehow, everything had. "And as for the second, I came here to help you."

"Help me?"

Saying nothing, dark eyes appraised the younger brother, making him cringe back slightly. Peter was stunned by the man in front of him: how could he ever turn into somebody like this? It couldn't be him. It just wasn't possible…

"I don't understand," Peter spoke softly, doe-like eyes watching as the older man sighed, brushing a hand back through his hair. Curiosity overpowering his pain, the youngest Petrelli leant forward, a barely concealing grimace adorning his features. "Are you…? You're from the future, right?"

With a thinning of his lips, the future Peter inclined his head minutely.

Dropping his gaze, Peter frowned. He gazed down at his painfully thin legs beneath his trousers, thinking. Disregarding the fact that this was probably just some pain-induced dream, he found himself wondering, with an astute sense of dread, what could possibly be so bad in the future that would make him want to come back to change the past.

"What happens there?" he managed, hazels rising to meet his other half's identical pair, "What made you want to come back?"

And, the pit-like feeling in his stomach as the other pair of eyes darkened, fading into a bitter black. With a look too serious and an expression too grim, the elder Peter shook his head sharply. "You really don't want to know."

Peter opened his mouth to reply, to demand answers, but he couldn't doubt the glazed film of agony that had formed over his other self's eyes. Something had happened, so terrible that it had changed him into this complete opposite – someone whose only constant was the never-ending pain that ached in his heart.

As though realising his weakness, the future Peter stiffened, instantly adopting his pose of indifference before glaring at the younger man, daring him to comment. The youngest Petrelli said nothing, wisely choosing to keep his mouth shut. Besides, the throbbing through his ribs was causing too much discomfort for him to act too openly defiant.

An air of relief began to surround the elder Peter and he relaxed marginally at the lack of questions. Pushing himself upright again, he stepped closer, looming over the frail form sat upright on the bed. "I came back to change what happened in that alley."

"What? You came here to save me?"

Ignoring the stunned question, the future Peter continued, pacing the bed and once again studying the old room with interest. "There have been moments in time that I've been trying to pinpoint and change – ones that caused a ripple effect in the future."

Narrowing his eyes, one hand resting haphazardly on the sheets while the other attempted to soothe his injuries, Peter asked, "And this was one of them?"

"Yes."

"And did you?" The pacing stopped and the scarred man swivelled, quirking an eyebrow in a prompting gesture. "Did you change it?"

The dark eyes trailed over the prominent wounds on his younger self, his violent scar creasing as he took in each individual hurt. Upon finishing his brief examination, his shoulder tilted lightly: an attempt at a shrug Peter supposed.

"To a degree," he answered cryptically, turning away before Peter had a chance to lock eyes with him. Moving gracefully, as though floating through the air, the elder Petrelli approached the window, staring towards the sky.

Watching him with a sense of fascination, Peter followed his gaze. _What…? Is the sky different in the future too?_

"No." The deep tone made Peter flinch in surprise before he remembered that he was in the presence of a telepath. Shifting where he sat, edging closer to the edge of the bed with a barely concealing wince, he stared at the broad back, waiting for the inevitable explanation. "The sky's the same. It's the world below it that's different."

Dropping his gaze, Peter stared at his feet, thinking about everything that had happened. He still remembered the rain lashing against him, his desperation at trying to escape, the cold ghostly fingers that brushed against his skin, tugging downwards…

He shuddered, dragging himself out of the memory. Bowing his head further, he listened to his increased breathing, wondering how he could ever forget what had happened to him. It could have been worse, he knew that.

Perhaps that, in itself, was the worst thing – there were so many potential things that could have happened to him.

Loosening the pressure against his chest, Peter allowed his arm to drop weakly into his open lap. The Nike shoes, he could see them now. He'd been choking on his blood, on the verge of unconsciousness but still awake enough to be aware of everything. The Nike shoes ahead of him were all he could see: the only thing left to focus on.

Brow furrowing, he tried to remember what had happened after, his sketchy memory missing the scenes that had been crucial to his escape. Peter blinked, the shoes hovering before him in his mind, before they were thrown abruptly out of his line of sight and he could move again.

He gasped, head darting upwards in realisation. "You!" he breathed, seeing the sleek hair tilt to the side, listening. "You helped me to escape."

The future Peter gave no reaction, returning his gaze to the sky. But Peter had his answer. It made sense – the sudden disappearance of the men, the opportunity to escape with no disruptions…

_I saved myself, _he realised, glancing once towards his future self before staring back at the dangling feet. He had come back from the future, to save himself in the past. Gripping his head tightly in his hands, tugging at the long hair in frustration, Peter screwed his eyes closed. _How is this possible?!_

"I could ask the same about flying," came the sincere voice from ahead of him, "but you've still done it."

Groaning, lowering his head further into his grasping hands, Peter heaved a heavy breath. This was all insane. Flying was one thing, and even that was brushing the border of mentally unstable, but time travel? Meeting your future self who came back to save you… _him_…

The sound of footsteps before him made him tense, eyes snapping open in preparation. It took him a few seconds to remember that he was safe in Nathan's house, his big brother only one scream's distance away. He knew who it was that approached him, but even that brought little comfort to his tormented mind.

As a question formed in his mind, Peter found his thin fingers unfurling in his disarrayed hair. He blinked slowly, still breathing irregularly as he struggled to comprehend the whole unbelievable situation. His face contorted in something close to fury as the thought amplified in his pounding head.

"If you can time travel and you came back to save me," he began, unable to stop the bitterness from creeping into his tone. Tilting his head back, gazing up at the tall figure now hovering directly before him, Peter continued, "why did you wait until the last possible second to do it?"

Unflinching, the future Peter held his stern gaze with one of his own, "I was interrupted."

"_Interrupted_?" Peter laughed sarcastically, ignoring the sharp stabs of pain it earned him as the reverberated through his broken bones and stitched together flesh. "Is that all?"

Face stoic at Peter's outburst, knowing exactly how the younger man felt, the man who wore black paused. "I had… a disagreement. My _friend _didn't exactly agree with my reasons for coming back," he scoffed humourlessly. "He said they were trivial in comparison."

"…In comparison with what?"

Observing him with a critical eye, the elder Peter moved back a step, hands resting lightly by his sides. Momentarily, Peter found his stare falling to them, the fingers twitching in anticipation, always ready and prepared for anything.

"Mistakes were made in the past. Don't ask me what they were," added the future Peter with a raised hand for silence, already hearing the unspoken question in his younger self's mind. "Nobody should recognise their mistakes until they've made them."

Shaking his head, Peter coughed at the movement, gripping his shirt as he tried to alleviate the pressure residing there. He brushed it off briskly. "Then why are you even here?"

"A lot of these mistakes weren't made by you. Everything that happened here in the past, led to something even worse taking place in the future."

Peter listened with interest, but with each thing he heard about the future, he found himself hating seeing it even more. His eyes found the scar on his future counterpart's self and he inwardly flinched as he wondered how he had got it. Without even realising it, his fingers lifted to the place where he knew that the scar would somewhere reside, tracing its imaginary path across his skin.

Immediately, he let his hand fall upon seeing the older Petrelli watching him. "Trust me when I tell you that that won't be the only scar you have in the future."

And the way he said it, with such conviction lurking in his tone, Peter believed him.

"If saving me wasn't that important, then why did you do it?" he asked, breath wheezing upon inhaling. Coughing violently again, hunching over further, Peter blinked up at the scarred man. He frowned as he thought he identified a hint of concern in the mirrored hazel orbs, but then it was gone again.

The future Peter sighed lightly, intense eyes ghosting over the impossibly skinny frame perched on the mattress. "Because it _was _important: to you and to me. If I hadn't shown up, you know what would have happened."

A shiver shook Peter's frame in understanding and he hissed as his ribs shifted painfully beneath his bruised skin. Blinking back pained tears, he jerked his head in answer, his teeth gritted too much to force out an answer.

Replying in kind with an inclination of his head, the elder man retreated back to the window. He reclined casually back against the glass, feeling the cool surface seep through the coarse material of his coat, sending a cold chill through his body.

He relished the feeling. It had been a while since he had truly felt anything at all.

A muffled sniff caught his attention and he glanced up, analysing the bowed posture of his past self. He saw the shoulders beginning to shake and tried to glimpse the man's face behind the ridiculously long bangs of hair that hid it from view.

He felt no disappointment at seeing himself break. A long time ago, he knew he would have reacted the same way to all this before what had happened to him in that alley. Despite the situation, a small look of satisfaction crossed the future Peter's face at the sight – he had changed something after all.

Tears welling up and breaking past his defences, Peter tried to contain his sobs, hugging himself to both ease the pain and to try and make himself as small as humanly possible. He felt so weak. He had survived, the worst scenario hadn't come to pass and yet he still couldn't get past it.

_How can Nathan even stand to be around me? I'm pathetic._

"You're not, Peter." Through teary eyes, Peter glanced up to the elder Petrelli. His entire demeanour begged for comfort, but they both knew that it was something that the future Peter would never be able to openly give. "You're human."

A hiccup chirped from his throat and he turned his head away, letting his dark hair restrict his face from view again. His chest screamed in agony at his distressed state, but he pushed the need for sleep away stubbornly. He deserved to feel every single hurt and suffer every second for refusing to accept that he had been lucky. He knew he was – he just didn't exactly feel like luck was choosing to be on his side.

With evenly paced steps, the other Peter approached him, as though greeting a wounded animal. He walked slowly, making his presence well known with each step, determined not to alarm him or make him relapse in any way.

"I-Is this how you reacted?"

The question stopped him in his tracks and he froze, watching as the youngest Petrelli's watery eyes appeared from beneath the curtains of hair. "When this all happened to you, did you cry?" Stunned, he responded with a gentle shake of his head.

Peter smiled weakly at the answer, dropping his gaze to the floor again. Stray tears raced to the end of his nose, dripping off the end and breaking apart against the carpeted floor. "Yeah, I figured as much."

"That's why saving you was important," the emotionless voice spoke, carrying across the room effortlessly. "I didn't cry, because I had nothing left. Everything that makes you, _you,_ is still there, Peter. That's what I was trying to save."

Staring at the stains of the teardrops, Peter found himself understanding his future self's actions. Inhaling raggedly, he murmured to the ground, knowing that the other Peter would hear him, regardless. "Thank you."

"Now that you know, you must forget."

"What?" Peter exclaimed, straightening so fast that the breath was momentarily torn from his lungs. He drew the oxygen back sharply, wheezing slightly but managing to level a tired glare in the scarred man's direction, his vision spinning for a moment. "Why?"

"Knowing too much about the future isn't a good thing. It doesn't make you some kind of all-seeing hero just because you know what might come to pass," replied the older Petrelli sharply, narrowing his dark eyes almost scornfully. "You'll start stepping on butterflies that you didn't even know you were destroying. You'll change things that shouldn't be changed."

Eyelids fluttering against the haze in Peter's mind, he watched the future Peter study him for a moment. Then, he began to stroll forward, trench coat swirling lightly behind him as though caught in some imaginary wind.

"Trust me to keep the future safe for now."

"Wait!" Peter implored, holding up a hand to stop his future self from approaching further. He watched as the dark eyes narrowed, posture straightened in anticipation for the question. The sincere gaze began to make him uncomfortable and, rubbing his sore ribs soothingly, he continued, "Is Nathan still alive in the future?"

The older Peter remained silent, his expression neutral. Peter felt his breath catch in his throat, before the other man bowed his head slightly, "Yes."

A sigh of relief whistled past his lips and Peter, despite the dizziness, felt the tension in his body ebb away lightly. "And, do you still, you know, love him?"

Inhaling slowly, the future Peter stepped closer, moving with timeless grace towards his other self. Peter found himself staring up at the angry looking scar across the pale brow, once again pondering over the many possible scenarios that could grant him such a memento.

"Even if the future is altered, there's one thing that will never change about you," the hardened warrior replied steadily, stopping just before the younger Petrelli. The two shared a look: identical hazels warring against each other. Slowly, the future Peter raised a gentle hand, resting it on his counterpart's shoulder.

Peter watched the hand for a moment before snapping his head back up again. Something akin to affection ignited in the cold eyes and the smallest quirk of a smile snuck across the stretched thin lips.

Before he could observe anything further, darkness crept steadily into his vision and Peter gasped as an empty feeling spread through his limbs. Unable to resist, he found his eyes rolling, aches fading while his future self's final words echoed around his vanishing memory.

"We will always love Nathan."

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_Aww-worthy...? =P hehehe_.

_Please, please, please review (I'm still uncertain about how I wrote future Peter) and let me know what you thought of it!!! =]=]=]._

_I hope it alleviated the pain of the last episode a little =D._

_Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;)._


	10. Deals With The Devil

_Hey y'all :):):)._

_I know I'm behind with updates and I do apologise._

_One reason for my terrible updating skills is that I had my Theory Test on Tuesday so I had lots of practise tests and everything to do (I passed though, so *phew!* lol). _

_Thank you for all the wonderful support I've had so far from readers!!! =]=]=].  
_

_Also, I'm a bit iffy with this chapter - I'm not particularly sure if it sounds any good or anything after I had written it =/. _

_I do hope you all like it though!!! =D._

_

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_Playlist:-

Aqualung - Brighter Than Sunshine

Papa Roach - Scars

Paramore - Decode

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**Chapter Ten – Deals With The Devil.**

Bright hazel eyes snapped open, dilated pupils shrinking at the harsh light. Peter blinked rapidly, squinting as dark lashes fluttered contrastingly against pale skin. He tilted his head to one side, long strands of hair falling loosely across his face while he stared towards the window.

With a delicate crease of his brows, he found himself glancing at the sky. Interspersed clouds etched their way across the fading blue, dashes of faint orange striking their way across it as the sun began to set.

Brow creasing, Peter pushed himself upright, jaw stretching as he yawned. He lowered his head once upright, rubbing his tired eyes with both hands. _How long have I been out for?_

His hand dropped back into his lap and he glanced towards the sun set once more. _I'm guessing a while. _Then, he stretched lazily, not straining too much as a light twinge from his chest warned him to control any movements that he made.

It was a tiring experience to tell the truth, always needing to be extra careful with how he did things. With a sigh, he relaxed again, blinking fervently down at his lap. He despised feeling as though he was made of glass – ready to shatter.

A sudden compulsive urge to go and find his brother tugged at him and Peter obeyed it instantly, with gentle care turning so that his legs dangled off of the edge of the bed. Splaying his hands out beside him, he levered himself up, pitifully thin arms trembling violently with the effort. He puffed air out of his lungs, his hazel orbs narrowing in concentration while his toes scrabbled, trying to aid his struggle.

Finally, he completed his task, exhaling wearily as he teetered. Raising his arms to his sides, trying to find his balance, Peter managed to think positive. Sure, it was slightly pathetic to consider managing to stand up with no assistance an achievement, but he couldn't help but feel some form of pride.

He wanted to be able to stand on his own two feet again. Being knocked down after all his years of fighting for independence would make his life worthless, pointless even.

Aiming for the door, Peter set it firmly in his sights, remembering that baby steps were all he needed right now. More than that, he just reminded himself that he was doing this for Nathan. He would prove that he was worth something and finally stop being such an overbearing burden in their family.

Each step was wavering, his gaze focussed solely on the door, giving him the drive to keep on moving. His chest throbbed awkwardly and he rubbed a hand soothingly over it, breathing with low, steady breaths.

It made him wonder why he didn't just give up at times. Things would just be so much easier if he keeled over and never got back up. All his life, he had fought and fought to do what was right – to help people, to go his own way, to live his own life…

_In retrospect, it seems like a waste of time, _he realised, reaching the doorway and stumbling through it. Grabbing onto the doorframe hurriedly, he stopped his fall, nails digging hard into the paint.

"God," he whimpered, squeezing his eyes closed as pain flared in his body once more. The doctors had told him to expect a long recovery, but, how long exactly?

Straightening, removing his nails with a crack and leaving significant marks in the paintwork, Peter pressed his forehead hard against the frame. Frustration amounted in his chest, weighing down his trembling knees and threatening to make him fall.

"I can't keep doing this."

His own admission stung and, trying to prove himself wrong, the youngest Petrelli began to move once more. His movement was laboured, one hand remaining supportively against the wall as he began his daunting trek to the stairwell.

Subconsciously, his thoughts began to linger on flight. If he could fly, there would be no need for shaking limbs and fears of collapsing: he would be beyond gravity's clutches…

Peter stopped. He took in the hallway, large enough to grant him a passageway for take-off. He could already see his own flight, the effortless grace of careening through open air. Then, with a faltering gait, he stumbled onwards, his position as dreamer of the family becoming questionable as of late.

_The last time I flew, I fell from the sky, _was his only thought, his only prominent memory of flying.

Inhaling sharply, Peter recoiled, remembering the wind ripping at him as fell brokenly back down to earth. Everything was moving too fast while his vision remained too useless to focus. He was tumbling down, swirling endlessly in the abyss as he headed towards his own demise.

And he couldn't stop it…

Coming back with a gasp, Peter fell back against the wall, body heaving with silent sobs as he struggled against the never-ending nightmares. He could still feel the cold night air slapping against his skin, tearing at his clothes as it tried to catch him.

Without a word, only his eyes showing the inner turmoil, Peter forced himself to keep walking. The pull of stitches in the back of his thigh hindered his advance, giving him a limp that only proceeded to aggravate his broken ribs.

Nothing he did was right.

The sad realisation made his shoulders slump dramatically, hunching his body so much that had anyone seen him they would have thought he had doubled over. Shuffling on further, bare feet scraping against the carpet, Peter reached the stairwell, glancing down it with uncertainty.

A wave of vertigo gripped him as he studied the decline and he grabbed the banister as he had done earlier. _Surely, _he reasoned, licking his dry lips nervously, _it's easier to go down the stairs than it is to go up. _

For a brief moment, the younger brother saw himself crashing weakly against each individual stair, landing broken and defeated at the bottom and he automatically pulled back a little. His fingers curled strongly around the polished wood and he waited, wondering if he had enough strength left to actually take the first step and keep going.

There was so much that he had lost faith in now.

The kindness of strangers, his own self-worth, the ability to keep fighting… He didn't even know if heroes could possibly be real anymore. How could such selfless and caring people exist in a world like this?

But through it all, he knew that he was mostly scared of falling.

When the knife had hit him, he had fallen, unable to move. They had hurt him and beat him within an inch of his life and then tried to… Peter squeezed his eyes shut, forcing away the memories. And then, after he had miraculously got away, he had fallen again with no protective big brother there to catch him.

Frail form shaking with fear, Peter hesitantly opened his eyes again, the long stairwell still waiting patiently for him. He almost wanted to call out for Nathan's help, but his pride wouldn't allow it. Besides, he had vowed on no longer being a burden: he had to do this by himself.

Taking a deep breath as though preparing for a plunge, Peter stepped forward. Again, his thigh protested but he silenced it, lowering his trembling foot onto the lower step. He smiled when it touched down and he tested it, wondering if his knees would be able to withstand his weight.

With a death grip on the banister, Peter stepped down again. His body shook like a leaf, too fragile and weak to withstand much more abuse. But he managed it, slowly but surely accomplishing the first of many tasks that led to his recovery.

He wasn't sure how long it took to actually make down into the hallway, but as soon as his feet touched the cool floor, he gasped, releasing breaths that he hadn't even known he had been holding. It felt as though he had run a marathon, all of his energy spent.

A hand pressed against his chest again as it ached harshly and Peter turned, gazing back up to the top of the stairs, a tender grin creeping onto his pale face. He had made it without falling. That was enough for him.

His figure continued to shiver, whether with pain or a peculiar rush of adrenaline he wasn't sure, but he held onto the railing for a moment longer. He wasn't sure that if he managed to pull away, he would be able to stay standing as of yet.

"That was fun," he murmured, panting slightly and still clutching his ribs. Finally, he released the banister, stepping away completely from his support. Relief spread through him as he felt his knees lock, pleased that he wouldn't have another collapse to add to his list of failures.

A familiar voice filtered into his head, speaking in hushed tones. Peter narrowed his eyes, tentatively making his way toward the dining room. He hated when his brother spoke in his low, secretive way – it had become a much more common tone of voice that Nathan had adopted after their father had passed, and something about it always unnerved the younger Petrelli.

_Like this family seriously needs any more secrets._

Approaching warily, Peter managed to keep his footsteps light despite his exhausted state. He crept to the open doorway, edging closer as more of the conversation became apparent.

"Yeah, well I really don't care about that right now!"

As his brother stormed into view, Peter recoiled, retreating back through the doorway. The younger man frowned, brows creasing together as he studied his enraged brother. He still wore his pristine suit as always, but whatever had remained of his immaculate appearance had been ripped away, revealing the core of the man beneath.

There were very few times in which Nathan Petrelli actually lost his cool and when he did, Peter was ashamed to notice that it was always where he was involved.

The elder brother paced back and forth, his free hand brushing back the badly ruffled hair whilst the other tightly grasped the phone. "I know that, Tom," he sighed, strolling back to the table and leaning against it. Smoothly, he wrapped an arm over his chest as he listened to the other speaker's answer over the phone, "Yeah, it is risky, you think I don't know that?! I need…"

He broke off, exhaling deeply as a hand ghosted over his drawn face. Peter frowned, edging closer, leaning fully against the door frame as he eavesdropped.

Finally, Nathan nodded. "Fine, okay. I just… I wanna know who did this to my brother."

The younger Petrelli flinched, seeing his brother's shoulders slump in an almost defeated way. Pulling back, Peter turned, letting his head fall back against the frame tiredly. He should have known it would be about him – he was the only one capable of causing Nathan such pain.

"Come on, there must be something!" The exclamation made Peter jump and he twisted slightly, watching as Nathan was back on his feet and moving agitatedly around the dining room. "This is Peter we're on about here, Tom. I'm asking you for this one thing. Please."

A look of anger passed over Nathan's face and he began shaking his head violently. His jaw started working and managing to restrain what he really felt like saying, he spat out the one word: "Fine."

Nathan hung up the phone, slamming it down on the table below lowering his head to join it. He sighed heavily, brow pressed against the wood in an attempt to relieve his throbbing head. He knew that finding the men who had done this to his brother wouldn't change what had happened, but he needed closure.

_No, not closure: revenge._

Making his decision, he grabbed the phone once more, smashing in the numbers. As it dialled, he closed his eyes silently, lifting the phone up to his ear. He knew that he was signing his soul to the devil, but it didn't matter.

_I need to do this. I need to for Peter and for me._

Despite his straining chest, Peter edged nearer, a look of puzzlement on his pale face. He knew what his brother was trying to do and despite what he knew were meant to be good intentions, the younger brother was opposed to it.

He had been through a lot and he knew that the men who had attacked him deserved to be punished, but not like this. He couldn't willingly allow Nathan to descend to this level to get some kind of desperate revenge. _I don't want him to become our father._

"Hello? It's Nathan Petrelli. I need to speak with him."

Hesitantly, Peter made his way into the room, his limp becoming more and more pronounced with each step. He wanted nothing more than to leave Nathan alone to go and rest in the lounge, but his conscience wouldn't allow it.

His big brother didn't deserve the grief he was pushing on himself.

Opening his mouth to speak and catch Nathan's attention, Peter was interrupted before he could even make a sound. He found his body freezing, a cold feeling spreading from his toes to the tips of his fingers while his heart stuttered in fear.

"Mr Linderman, I need your help."

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_Please review and let me know what you thought of it (I'm really uncertain about how I wrote it)._

_Thanks for reading!!! =]=]=]._

_Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;)._


	11. Shattered Pieces

_Hey y'all :):):)._

_I am so, so, so, **so **sorry about my appalling lack of updates! You would not believe how ridiculous things have gone lately, from exams and insane amount of coursework to me being rushed to casualty after a Chemistry experiment went badly south =/. But anyway, enough excuses, the new chapter is done!_

_Thank you very much for your patience and your kind reviews and story/author or favourite alerts =]=]=]. It really is lovely to know that people enjoy my writing!_

_Also, I really wanted to reply individually to your reviews but the site wouldn't let me access them or send replies back. So, as an overall message of gratitude... THANK YOU!!! =D._

_I put a little twist at the end of this chapter for you all: I figured you deserved it =P._

_With no further ado, here is Chapter 11 - please enjoy!!!

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_Playlist:-

Red - Pieces

Muse - Undisclosed Desires (I'm obsessed with this song at the mo!)

Hana Pestle - Need

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**Chapter 11: Scattered Pieces.**

He wasn't sure when he found the energy to run. His knees had been trembling violently to the point of collapse, but upon hearing that one name, Peter bolted. Spinning with a wavering gait, the youngest Petrelli managed to sprint away, ignoring Nathan's surprised stare and worried shout that followed him.

His heart was racing in his chest, ribs stabbing furiously at his lungs and stealing his breath away. Nathan had betrayed him. Linderman was against everything they had stood for: had it not been for him, Peter believed that their father may have still been alive…

"Peter!"

The thundering footsteps before him raced in time with his heartbeat and he gasped as a thread of pain wove its way into his body. Hazel orbs watering as fiery agony erupted through his body, Peter found himself beginning to stumble as he rushed for the front door.

Everything was crushing down on him: his injuries, his brother's words, his memories…

Unable to draw a strong enough shield around his mind, Peter felt the feelings returning. He tried to repress them, but the sense of hopelessness managed to creep into his subconscious once more. Kicks raining down on him, blood clogging in his throat, cold hands grabbing at his exposed skin…

A ragged breath ripped through his chest and he was back, watching the tiled floor lunge frighteningly towards him. His limbs flailed violently, each panicked breath grating painfully. Slamming his eyelids closed, preparing for the impact, Peter heard his brother running behind him, calling out.

It was the first time in his life that he didn't want his brother to catch him.

Arms locked strongly around his abused chest, preventing the crash that surely would have sent him back into unconsciousness. Peter gasped, clutching at the strong arm furiously, trying to tear it away. _I didn't want to be caught. Don't you understand?!_

"Peter!" Nathan cried from above him, lowering to his knees so as to better support his struggling baby brother. His heart was racing furiously with panic at what Peter had been witness to. "Stop moving, you're gonna hurt yourself."

Peter ignored the order, feet kicking uselessly against the floor whilst he set his gaze stubbornly on the door. The arm clamped harder and he grimaced, coughing loudly as his ribs shifted. Instantly, the hold lessened, but he was still held fast, restrained from escaping.

"Let me go!"

"I can't do that," the elder Petrelli replied breathlessly, now kneeling and wrapping another arm across Peter's slim abdomen. The dark head whipped backward, trying to knock him off guard, but he ducked away in time. "Peter stop."

Despite wanting to keep struggling, to shove his defiance blatantly in Nathan's face, Peter could feel his strength waning and relinquished. With a breathy sigh, he collapsed back, resting fully against his brother's rapidly rising and falling chest. "You're a traitor," he eventually spat out, glaring dead ahead as Nathan shifted into a more comfortable position behind him.

Exhaling tiredly, finally in a seated position where he held his sibling tenderly, Nathan shook his head. Without even realising it, he voiced his mother's words from earlier that week: "Don't be so melodramatic Pete."

"_Melodramatic?! _You know who he is, Nathan! What he does…"

"That's exactly the point!" Nathan snapped furiously, one hand releasing Peter and rubbing tiredly through his stuck-up hair. He exhaled steadily, feeling Peter tense beneath him as his breath ruffled the long dark mop of hair that adorned his head. "It's just… you wouldn't understand."

"You're right about that – I could never understand why you'd willingly choose to go to him!" snarled the younger brother, still fuming as he kicked out once more, trying to catch Nathan off guard. Again, the attempt was futile, but he retained a stubborn expression as the hold tightened yet again.

The elder brother grunted as Peter struggled again, wanting to squeeze him close but not wanting to hurt him further. Relief filled him when Peter once again settled, spine straightened in tension from where it was resting against Nathan's chest.

Finally, after being certain that the smaller man had given up on escaping, Nathan sighed long and hard. "I'm not gonna say that I did it for you, Pete. I know that's not what you wanna hear." Peter remained silent, listening to his brother's excuses patiently. "I didn't do it for you."

Narrowing his eyes, Peter relaxed back further, feeling Nathan hold him tenderly and support him as he did so. He kept his gaze locked firmly upon the front door – his means of escape in case he needed it. He wasn't scared of his brother, but the sense of betrayal that had wound itself around his heart refused to be abated.

"I did it for me."

"What?" Peter asked, brow furrowing in thought.

Shifting again, both arms now wrapped around Peter's torso, the elder Petrelli repeated slowly, "I did it for myself. I needed to see them suffer, Peter, for what they did to you." He paused, shaking his head at the injustice of it all. "They hurt you so badly…"

He trailed off, leaving an uncomfortable quiet in the wake of his words. Saying nothing, realisation crept into Peter's mind. He hadn't thought before about how his attack would have affected those around him. So caught up in his own battles, it had never even occurred to him that the ones he loved would be suffering in the same way, if not worse at being unable to help him.

"So what," Peter managed shakily, now slumped fully backward. "You figured that you'd ask Linderman for a favour to…" he scoffed, "to _get even_?"

"Peter…"

The younger Petrelli instantly cut him off, "No, Nathan. I get it, that you want to protect me and everything and I am grateful." Twisting slowly, mindful of his ribs, he blinked up at the politician with sincerity, "really, I am. But selling your soul to Linderman… revenge isn't worth that."

"I can't just sit back and do nothing, Pete," Nathan shot back evenly, managing to keep a politician type tone to his voice: the tone that he only ever used when trying to reign in his temper. "What they did to you, they can't get away with that!"

"Fine, then let the police deal with it."

Snorting with indignation, his chin accidentally bumping against the crown of Peter's head, Nathan replied, "No. If they'd learnt something new about what happened, they would have acted on it by now."

"So Linderman's the only alternative?" The question, although it sounded more like a statement, was bitter and void of any support that would normally have laced his voice. Continually staring at the door but with lack of desire to try and escape, the youngest Petrelli paused, hearing his brother sigh behind him. "That's what you think isn't it?"

"He has connections, Pete. He could find anyone he wanted in this country and he could deal with them before anyone even noticed they were gone."

"Yeah, but at what cost Nathan?" snarled Peter, twisting his head around to send a sincere glare at the man who hovered above him. The look of uncertainty that passed briefly over Nathan's face sparked a small sense of hope within the pit that had nestled deep in Peter's stomach. But, as quick as it had come, the expression vanished again.

"It doesn't matter."

"What?"

Lowering his gaze, staring directly into Peter's sparkling hazels beneath him, Nathan shook his head. "I want them to pay for what they did. Don't look at me like that, Pete: I'm not the villain here, okay? I found you out _there_," he pointed haphazardly towards the window, never glancing away from his brother, "barely even alive. And, I just, I can't describe what it felt like to…"

He broke off momentarily, drawing in a ragged breath as tears swam in his eyes. Biting his lip, he forced himself to continue: "to hold someone like that. But you were so fragile and you wouldn't wake up." Finally, he bowed his head, breaking the emphatic gaze that his brother always seemed to bear. "I was so sure you weren't gonna make it, Pete."

Remaining silent, Peter too lowered his eyes, absorbing all that Nathan had told him. He felt so selfish, not even acknowledging the obvious fact that someone must have found him at some point. How he hadn't guessed that that person would, of course, have been Nathan was also beyond him.

Swallowing past the rapidly growing lump in his throat, Peter whispered softly, "I'm sorry."

"Don't. It wasn't your fault, Pete."

Choosing to say nothing, Peter found himself unable to alleviate the gnawing sensation in his gut. It all came back to him: he was the centre of so many people's suffering. If he had been stronger, faster… but he'd gone through this all before, running it over and over in his mind.

He hadn't done so many things that he knew he could have during the attack. God, he hadn't even screamed and this, the here and now, was his consequence.

"Nathan," he finally managed, wincing as his voice cracked over his big brother's name. Instantly, the elder Petrelli's hand rose into the dark locks, soothing and offering him support. "I get how you feel, but _please_," he twisted, large puppy dog eyes twinkling skywards, "don't go to Linderman."

Letting out a sigh, frustrated and lost, Nathan shook his head. He pointedly avoided looking into his brother's eyes, knowing that the adorable expression would now be adorning Peter's features. It had always made him relent in the past, but this time, he couldn't just let this go.

"There's no-one else, Peter."

Peter blinked lethargically, "Fine, just give up on revenge, Nate. We don't need it now, okay? I… I don't even want it anymore."

"What?" Nathan snapped, subconsciously meeting Peter's gaze at the younger man's words. "Come on, Pete! I know you're into that whole 'humanity is good' crap, but how can't you feel angry?!" Lowering his eyes, Peter said nothing, causing Nathan to recoil slightly. "Don't you feel anything…?"

"I don't know what I feel!" yelled Peter, wincing as his ribs constricted again in protest. "Ashamed, betrayed, hurt, but I am _not_ gonna change my pain into someone else's. Maybe one day, they'll get what's coming to them. Maybe they'll never get caught but it's out of our hands."

"It doesn't have to be. Don't you get it? People like that deserve punishment, Pete."

Nodding, Peter managed to push away from Nathan, hunching over painfully as he managed to struggle into a sitting position. "Then why do you have to be the one who gives it to them?"

Opening his mouth to reply, Nathan was cut off by the sound of the phone's shrill ringing from his study. He glanced towards the source of the noise, frowning indecisively, before turning back to Peter's bowed frame. The younger brother followed his gaze before meeting Nathan's eye again with sincerity. He nodded before stretching out his legs tiredly, as a poignant sign that he wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon.

Rubbing a hand wearily through his spiked hair, Nathan rose to his feet. His eyes trailed sadly over his brother's bowed and dejected-looking form, before he turned on his heel and stormed away.

Peter listened to Nathan's retreating footsteps, wincing as he heard the door to the study slam closed in frustration. He lowered his head, blinking downwards at his slim legs stretched out uselessly before him. Once, out of curiosity, he wiggled his sock covered toes, a bitter smile rising across his lips as he watched them move.

He knew he wasn't paralysed… he just wanted to know why he was feeling so numb inside.

A rattling breath ripped through his chest and he gasped, clutching a hand to it. He felt the ribs moving beneath his skin and cringed: it felt as though they were about to leap forth out of his skin at any moment.

"I've gotta get out of here," the youngest Petrelli murmured to himself, intelligent hazel orbs flicking back towards the front door with an almost yearning expression. He knew that Nathan would be terrified to find out that he'd gone, but right now, he couldn't stay here.

Ever since the attack, Peter had felt smothered. He needed some downtime – a moment alone where he could gather his thoughts. He did want answers about what had happened, but plain answers and justice were completely different things.

Clenching his hands together, Peter frowned silently. He wasn't sure why, but he had the feeling that the men who had attacked him had got what had been coming to them. He shuddered at the cruel thought, yet he couldn't shake the sensation that they had already been dealt Karma's hand.

Uneasily, Peter placed his hands beside him, thin arms trembling as they fought to push him upright. He winced as his abused body protested, but soon he was in a crouch – unstable and shaking terribly, but a crouch nonetheless.

He rose painfully from the floor, his execution much less swift than his brother's as he trembled weakly. However, despite the sweat that formed a translucent sheen across his brow, Peter found that he was now standing. Another agonising shudder passed through his frail frame and he realised, almost spitefully, that his desperate adrenaline rush had now worn out.

_Typical. _

Placing one foot ahead of the other with deliberate slowness, Peter headed towards the front door. He stopped momentarily, slipping his feet into his shoes before continuing forth in search of escape.

At one point, he stumbled falling into the coat racks along the main hall. He felt Nathan's jacket cushion his fall and rested there for a minute, breathing in the familiar, comforting smell of his big brother. _I know you'll worry, Nate, but this is something I need to work out for myself._

Peter felt himself fall as his balance diminished, his hand slipping into the jacket pocket by its own accord. His fingers brushed against something smooth and he frowned, curling them around the mysterious object. He withdrew his hand, eyes widening as his brother's wallet appeared in his sight.

_He must've forgotten to take it out, _he reasoned and, gulping back his unease, Peter gripped the leather wallet tight to his chest, inwardly promising to repay Nathan one day. Then, wincing again as he sighed heavily, he pushed back from the wall. Wobbling with uncertainty, Peter managed to find his balance once more, forcing himself onwards towards the front door.

There was only one place that he was going to be able to get answers, and that place wasn't here.

Trying to turn the handle as slowly as possible, not wanting Nathan to hear, the younger brother tugged the door towards him. He slipped around it, opening it only just wide enough to allow his lithe frame to slip through without nudging his ribs.

Then, with an apologetic whisper, he closed the door and left his brother behind.

* * *

The taxi driver wasn't normally a judgemental man, but, as he watched the young man struggling to rise out of his cab, he couldn't help but wonder. What had happened to turn this kid's complexion a deathly white shade, to make him shake like a drug addict waiting for another hit, to make his eyes so hollow and broken?

Watching with narrowed eyes, the taxi driver watched as the kid sidled up to his window, limping slightly. His fingers delved deep within his wallet, drawing out some money and handing it shyly over.

"Thank you," he murmured lightly, eyes blinking up through dark bangs of hair and, unable to think of an appropriate response to the man's timid nature, the driver nodded once. Tucking the bills away, he glanced up to see the kid beginning to sidle away, heading for an ominous-looking alleyway.

With a frown, the taxi driver adjusted himself in his seat before accelerating away. He pulled away, tired eyes drawing back to the rear-view mirror as the slim, pale man disappeared into the depths of the secretive adjacent walls.

Peter wasn't sure what he was thinking. As he stumbled into the foreboding-looking alleyway, an arm looped across his severely aching chest, he couldn't help but wonder if he had truly lost his mind. He shivered as a bitter breeze swept past him and hugged his arm tighter to him, trying to stave off the cold and pain.

He really wasn't sure why he'd thought that coming back to the scene of the attack would grant him sudden answers.

Stopping uncertainly, the youngest Petrelli glanced back the way he had come, dark hair falling haphazardly across one of his eyes. He knew that he should go back, but he had no doubt that the ominous alley was nothing compared to the fury of an overprotective older sibling.

He stepped onwards, knees shaking violently as his energy levels began to bottom out. He inwardly cursed himself: his predetermination for events was, it seemed, lacking in important aspects. _Nathan's gonna kill me, _he thought, wincing as the image of an enraged brother came to mind.

Peter shuddered before steeling his expression, staring resolutely down at his feet. "I really hope this is worth it…"

The sound of a trashcan crashing to the floor made Peter jump in fright and he twirled around with as much speed as his wounded body would allow. His heart was racing in his chest as alert hazels scanned the surroundings, searching for his would-be attacker.

After a few more moments of cat-like readiness, Peter's shoulders slumped, his breathing erratic. Pressing a hand to the tightened chest, he attempted to shake off the nervous pit that proceeded to grow deeper and deeper in the bottom of his stomach.

It took him a moment to realise after his panic that he had reached where he wanted to be. Brows creasing in thought, Peter glanced around, taking in every detail of where he stood. His eyes trailed to the ground and he drew in a sharp breath as memories assaulted him.

_Pain bore down on him as he blinked back the tears and rain. Stretching out, whimpering in agony, fingernails cracked and began to bleed as he dug them hard into the floor. His body was pulled, inch by agonising inch along the unforgiving ground, his pulse spiking in terror as footfalls thundered behind him._

Stumbling, Peter gasped as his pulled himself back from the flashbacks. His chest stabbed cruelly at him and he lifted his hands, studying the broken and ruined fingernails with a horrified expression.

"T-They caught me."

_His escape was halted. A weight crushed him into the floor, forcing air from his abused body, ribs bending and creaking under the strain. The throbbing in his leg reached a crescendo, flesh tearing apart as the embedded knife was liberated. He screamed…_

Exclaiming in shock, eyes screwed tightly closed, the young man backed away as he clutched his pounding head. He felt cool droplets begin to carve tracks down his face and was unsure if it was rain, tears or a mixture of both.

With tremendous effort, Peter forced his eyes wide, staring sorrowfully towards the exit out of the alleyway. It had been his salvation and he had missed it. _I was so close. _He clenched his fists tightly together, anger marring his sadness: anger at the people who had done this and, most importantly, anger at himself for not being strong enough.

_Blows struck him from every side, his chest and side exploding in white pain as the attacks became more and more violent. He tried to curl in on himself, trying to escape the pain. But, just as he had failed to escape before, his attempts were futile. _

Shaking his head in despair, Peter took a step forward. He overbalanced, dropping hard to his knees and wincing as sharp pain shot up his thigh at the brutal contact. He inhaled raggedly, arms hanging dejectedly beneath him and tearful eyes falling to the rippling puddle before him. Peter studied his reflection, blinking slowly at what he saw.

_Then he was back, seeing the openly bleeding cuts form along his face. He watched himself choke and cough harshly, more blood flowing out of his gaping mouth, joining the endless trail that had already formed from his nostrils. His eyes were glazed over with pain, rolling as unconsciousness teased him, not ready to alleviate his struggles just yet._

'_Help me…'_

Stunned, Peter reeled back, his ribs now a fiery inferno in his chest. He fell with arms waving wildly face forward, hands barely managing to stop a face plant into the murky water below. Gagging violently, bile staining his lips, Peter squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to erase the images from his mind.

He had wanted answers – it wasn't until now that he realised the cost of this desire.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his shaking hand, Peter struggled to control his hysteria. His back heaved with sobs as bloodied, beaten images of himself filled his mind, that feeling of inevitability: that he knew he was about to die…

Hesitantly, the shadowed lids pulled back and Peter stared down at his reflection in the puddle. He studied the vivid bruises on his pale complexion, healing cuts scarring his skin harshly. Tears rolled steadily off his chin, hanging there desperately for a moment, before plummeting to join the puddle below.

_Why did they do this to me?_

But Peter knew that that question was one he would never find a satisfactory answer for.

Sniffing, the youngest Petrelli's lip trembled and another tragic sob rattled past his throat. He watched his reflection for a moment longer, all the while thinking: _You're pathetic. _His eyes drifted slightly and instantly, he tensed, sobs stilling and hazel orbs widening in terror.

Over his left shoulder lurked the shadow of a man, his tall frame hovering over him menacingly.

Peter couldn't breathe, his heart stuttering to a stop out of fear. He tried to move, but his body wouldn't allow him to, trapping him as a helpless victim yet again. He attempted to open his mouth - to scream, to beg: it didn't matter – but it was also locked solidly in place. _Please, don't do this to me again._

The man, his face hidden from view by a strategically placed cap, tilted his head like a predator studying its prey. Then, with the young nurse unable to anything more than watch him, he raised one finger as though in accusation towards Peter's frozen figure.

The torturous agony swiftly followed…

* * *

_DUH DUH DUH!!! =]=]=] (was that an okay cliffhanger for you all???)_

_I am aware - thanks to a very helpful and kind reviewer - that I have quite a few typos in my work. I can only apologise as I really don't have time to read back through and check every individual mistake. Please, if you can, just grit your teeth and bear with me =D._

_Please review and let me know what you think of this incredibly belated update! _

_Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;)  
_


	12. Just Not Ready Yet

_Hey y'all =)=)=)._

_Thank you so so much for all the wonderfully kind responses to this fic! I need to get round to replying to them all, but I figured if I get this ridiculously belated chapter up first it might be better appreciated =P. _

_Other than the excuse that I've had a lot on my plate for these past months, there's nothing else to say except that I hope it has been worth the wait! =D. There's not much Nathan in this chapter *sniffle*, but a lot of Peter and our mystery attacker, even though a lot of you have alrwady figured out who it is._

_Anyways, enjoy! ;)

* * *

_Playlist:-

IAMX - Song Of Imaginary Beings

Elliot Minor - Shiver

* * *

**Chapter Twelve - Just Not Ready Yet.**

There are those moments in life: the ones that truly matter and that you will remember for countless years to come. They're the ones that you call your memories, because everything else that happens pales in comparison to them.

There are happy moments like your first day of school, your first kiss or realising that, at that very second there is nowhere else that you'd rather be.

But not all moments are happy ones: they are not the defining acts. It is harder to remember happier times than sad, because tears and pain shape who we will become. How you respond to a desperate situation is a reflection of your true self: these times create us in an image that can never be erased.

There is a term for these situations – dire ones with a no-win situation – and it is called fight or flight. Will you stand your ground and face your fears head on, or run and know that for such a long time afterwards, you will be running still?

And, as searing pain tore through Peter's skull, eradicating all thoughts for torture, he created his image. Even as blood began to trickle down his brow, dripping into his eyes and turning his vision red, the young Petrelli fought. He cried out, voice cracking with its intensity and threw back his elbow into the man's thigh.

The pain stopped abruptly and Peter pitched forward, released from the invisible hold that had restrained him. He crashed down into the water listlessly, squeezing his eyes closed against the fire upon his brow. Water seeped around his ears, his hair fanning out around his head as blood seeped out in veins around him.

It was a bittersweet way to die after all he had been through. Drowning in a puddle… he could have thought of countless more impressive deaths for him to experience.

A buzzing in his ears began to lull him into darkness, the first tendrils of water creeping between his lips and into his open nostrils. He didn't want to breathe it in just yet – he wanted to know that no matter the situation, he had resisted until the end.

Vaguely, he was aware of a tugging sensation around his neck as the collar of his shirt was gripped. Before he could analyse the feeling further, Peter was wrenched backwards. He gasped, hair flicking back as he was dragged into the air, feet leaving the ground. He found his gaze staring skywards for a moment, futilely wishing that he would have the strength to fly to safety once more.

His wish was granted…

Like a useless rag doll, Peter was tossed hard across the alleyway, slamming into a wall with enough force to rattle his bones. He grimaced, sliding to the floor as bricks tore and grated at his pale skin. A strangled noise slithered past his lips as his body finally stopped in its descent, resting brokenly against the cold ground with no intention of moving.

Ribs shifted beneath his skin and he hissed in pain, feeling the damaged bones edge dangerously close to his heaving lungs. Attempting to calm himself, Peter blinked towards his attacker: face still shrouded in mysterious shadow.

"W-Who are you?" the young Petrelli demanded, cursing the waver in his voice. The man before him remained perfectly still, as unmoving as an abstract painting in fading light. Wincing, Peter coughed as his chest ached, his previous injuries no where near ready to take this kind of abuse. He felt the bitter tang of iron at the back of his throat, swallowing rapidly to prevent what he knew to be blood from spurting forth.

Eyes watering as the painful tickle beneath his ribs refused to be abated, Peter hoarsely persisted: "Who are you?"

Peter's answer was not one he had expected. His attacker thrust out his arm and Peter felt his body seize, eyes widening as he realised moving was now beyond his control. The hand, splayed out forcefully, rose steadily and the young nurse was lifted with it. His legs hung uselessly beneath him as he was dragged mercilessly up the wall, bricks digging into his clothes and tearing at scarred flesh.

A low grunt rumbled in the back of Peter's throat, followed by another hacking cough as splatters of blood adorned his lips. It had been a mistake to come here and stupidly, he was only realising this now. Hanging his head down as the man approached whilst holding him in place with his _freaking mind_, Peter allowed his dark bangs to flop protectively over his face.

With a sharp jolt, Peter's head was flung back against the wall and pinned there. He spluttered again, the strong taste in the back of his throat intensifying at the movement. His bright hazels, rimmed with the first signs of fever, squinted down at his opponent whose hat still safeguarded his identity.

"Huh."

Peter's brow furrowed at the man's puzzled utterance. He instantly regretted the action as white pain reverberated through his brain and he squeezed his eyes closed tightly. After the stabbing agony reduced to bearable throbbing, his lids slid open once more. He blinked downwards at his attacker who was still, creepily, watching him in silence.

Huffing, the man lowered his arm and stepped back as Peter was released from his hold. The youngest Petrelli crashed down hard onto his knees, wincing as the force travelled up his bruised thighs. With his strength rapidly diminishing, Peter crumpled in on himself, falling face first towards the cold floor. A shiver racked his thin frame as the tiny rain drops continued to settle over his skin.

Peter gasped, forcing one hand beneath his body and clutching at his tight chest in desperation. He felt warm blood rise up, running over the edge of his bottom lip and continuing its trail downwards. _Oh God, this is not good…_

"You're not who I was expecting."

Gagging at the harsh taste in his mouth, expelling more blood unwittingly with the action, Peter titled his head upwards. Peering through the wet bangs of hair and past his wavering vision, his gaze found the man stood over him dominantly. He made no move to help, but none to attack either.

"What…?" he eventually managed to force out, a ragged breath ripping through his lungs upon speaking. Worriedly, Peter noticed that he was beginning to drift, his vision blurring and losing all focus. He hissed in pain as old and new injuries merged together to torture him further. Unconsciousness, he realised, would soon follow.

Calculating eyes remained hidden beneath the cap, but Peter knew they were staring at him sincerely. "You look like him, the one I came for," the man's head tilted in consideration of his young victim. "But there's something different about you. You have something that he doesn't."

Peter simply shook his head, weakness seeping through his veins and forcing his forehead to the ground. His body heaved with painful breaths, the cold clutching at his lungs and hindering an already wounded chest. The stab wound in the back of his leg had begun to twinge awkwardly as he attempted to fold his body inwards, for warmth more than anything.

Managing to draw in another breath and courage to answer, Peter whispered softly, "I don't know what you're talking about."

A small chuckle rose from the back of the man's throat and Peter tensed as footsteps approached closer. He heard the rustling of clothes as his assailant crouched before his shivering frame. The hand that had been clutching at his chest drew away, curled into an impossibly tight fist that was prepared to strike. He just had to wait for the opportunity.

With the unnerving lack of physical touch, the youngest Petrelli brother felt his chin being lifted and he flinched at the proximity of the other man's concealed face. He felt hidden eyes studying him with amounting curiosity and, despite his screaming body, Peter maintained a defiant expression on his face at all times.

After a few seconds, his attacker nodded slowly, as though solving some unspoken riddle. Narrowing his hazel eyes, confusion and pain reflected in their depths, Peter waited for something, _anything, _to happen. The cap tilted up slightly and although his features were still obscured by darkness, Peter met the cold, swirling abyss-like eyes that stared at him with horrified ones of his own.

"You're not ready yet."

Before he could even formulate an appropriate question, the harsh grip that held his head upright was released. Unable to support himself in time, his brow collided hard with the concrete, an old wound splitting and giving way to a torrent of fresh blood. Peter groaned, finally managing to get his knees underneath him so that his body was now bowed over in a praying position.

The anonymous man rose to his feet and, pushing away the crippling dizziness, Peter forced himself to sit upright. His arms trembled with the minute effort as he wished, futilely, that he had remained with Nathan where, despite his brother's flaws, he had always felt protected.

More than once, darkness swam around him, momentarily blinding him to the world. But, with incredible stubbornness, he held on and focussed on the figure before him. The man's back was turned, shoulders tensed against the bitter chill as he remained completely ignorant of the injured nurse behind him.

Turning his head to the side, Peter spat out a large amount of blood, wincing at the tug it made on his chest. The pain had started to numb, but he knew that it wasn't a good thing. His medical guess would be that one of his cracked ribs had curved inwards and nicked his lung, causing internal bleeding. It was a serious condition on its own, but coupled with the slight bout of hypothermia that he was developing; well, things were looking grim.

But his curiosity, as misplaced as it was at this moment, kept him going, "R-Ready for what?"

The man's shoulders tensed further, before suddenly relaxing and drooping downwards. Peter watched with unease as he turned fully on one foot, graceful and immaculate. The youngest Petrelli could almost see the calculating smile forming across the man's shadowed face and his fists curled of their accord.

Noticing the slight action, Peter's attacker huffed, the noise escaping like a strangled laugh. "That won't help you." He contemplated for a moment, Peter's knuckles standing out as a stark white in the dull alleyway. Even he had to admit, the kid had guts.

"Answer m-my question," Peter spat, ignoring the overwhelming fear that worked its way through his body. Blood dribbled past his lips again, drawing harsh trails down his chin and falling onto his trembling thighs.

He felt the panic of his previous attack rising to the forefront of his mind, images of that fateful night creeping into his rapidly diminishing vision.

The attacker shot out one finger and Peter felt his spine stretching. He grimaced as his body was straightened in his knelt position, chin tilted upwards in mocking defiance in the man's powerful hold. Blinking away tears, Peter's lungs constricted, his bright hazels widening in pure panic at the lack of air.

The world began to fade around him, vision tunnelling until the tall figure was all he could see. The sounds of rain pattering against the ground, even of his own harsh breathing dimmed, as though his head was submerged beneath water. He realised with amounting regret towards his big brother, that he was dying again and this time he wasn't going to be able to fly to safety.

"You're not ready," came the malicious tone, like a whisper sinking through the haze that surrounded the youngest Petrelli brother's mind. He shivered involuntarily as the man leant in closer, still holding him with invisible hands. Shock settled deeply within the core of Peter's body and his eyes began to roll, flashing their whites horrifically.

He felt the telekinetic hold release him, numbness gripping him tight as he crashed back down against the floor. Each exhale shuddered out of his body, fleeing in desperation to escape the young nurse's pain. The darkness grasped at him and Peter embraced, sparing only a small thought for how familiar this sensation was becoming.

Peter was unconscious in moments, his attacker studying him with an undecided expression. Lips curling at the corners, he nudged his cap upwards, only now revealing his identity to his would-be victim. His deep eyes narrowed, reading the man before him as easily as he could have been reading a book.

"You're not ready for me yet."

Narrowing his eyes, he twisted, glancing up at the overcast sky. He squinted, focussing on a small silhouette moving in the distance, cutting through the clouds towards them. Smirking at the ridiculous cliché of a superhero that was making its way towards him, the man replaced his cap. His shoulders tensed again against the cold and he briskly walked away, disappearing with practised ease.

He mused, for a moment, that the young man in the alleyway would never truly know how lucky he had been. After all, it wasn't every day that he left any survivors in his wake. There was always something he wanted from them and for that reason alone none of them could remain breathing.

This time, he decided that he could let it slide. There would be others out there and they were all just waiting for the cruel finger of fate to point a serial killer in their direction.

* * *

_Did that update kinda satisfy the long wait? As much as I wanted to have Peter kick some butt, in his present condition it seems a little unlikely =/. Oh and Nathan does kind of make an appearance after all, as a speck in the background lol. But he's coming for his baby bro so that's all that matters really, right?_

_Please review and let me know what you thought of it! =)_

_Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;)  
_


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